I

O the clammy cold November, And the winter white and dead, And the terror dumb with stupor, And the sky a sheet of lead; And events that came resounding With the cry that All was lost, Like the thunder-cracks of massy ice In intensity of frost-- Bursting one upon another Through the horror of the calm. The paralysis of arm In the anguish of the heart; And the hollowness and dearth. The appealings of the mother To brother and to brother Not in hatred so to part-- And the fissure in the hearth Growing momently more wide. Then the glances ’tween the Fates, And the doubt on every side, And the patience under gloom In the stoniness that waits The finality of doom.