A January Night
by Thomas Hardy
The rain smites more and more,
The east wind snarls and sneezes;
Through the joints of the quivering door
The water wheezes.
The tip of each ivy-shoot
Writhes on its neighbour's face;
There is some hid dread afoot
That we cannot trace.
Is it the spirit astray
Of the man at the house below
Whose coffin they took in to-day?
We do not know.
Poems of the Week for The Monarch Writers.com
are chosen by our resident poet Jennifer Patino of ThistleThoughts.com
Cover image: Kutna Hora by Aleksei Mikhailov
The Monarch Writers 