WHEN THE NIGHT WIND HOWLS
by: W.S. Gilbert (1836-1911)
 HEN
the night wind howls
In the chimney cowls,
And the bat in the moonlight flies,
And the inky clouds,
Like funeral shrouds,
Sail over the midnight skies--
-
- When the footpads quail
At the night-bird’s wail,
And black dogs bay at the moon,
Then is the spectre’s holiday--
Then is the ghost’s high noon!
-
- Ha! Ha!
-
- Then is the ghost’s high noon!
-
- As the sob of the breeze
Sweeps over the trees
And the mists lie low on the fen,
From grey tomb-stones
Are gathered the bones
That once were women and men,
-
- And away they go,
With a mop and a mow,
To the revel that ends too soon,
For cock crow limits our holiday--
The dead of the night’s high noon!
-
- Ha! Ha!
-
- The dead of the night’s high noon!
-
- And then each ghost
With his ladye-toast
To their church yard beds take flight,
With a kiss, perhaps,
On her lantern chaps,
And a grisly grim, “good night!”
-
- Till the welcome knell
Of the midnight bell
Rings forth its jolliest tune,
And ushers in our next high holiday--
The dead of the night’s high noon!
-
- Ha! Ha!
-
- The dead of the night’s high noon!
|
"When the Night Wind Howls"
is reprinted from Ruddigore; or, The Witch's Curse. W.S.
Gilbert. London: G. Bell & Sons, 1912. |
MORE
POEMS BY W.S. GILBERT |
|
