A Sleepless Night

The night was dark, and loud the wild wind roared
Across the desolate and lonely moor;
It lashed the rain against the rattling panes,
And shook the trembling door.

I was alone. Yet ever, on the gale,
I heard the fitful crying of a child;
I looked, although I knew no child was there—
The night was dark and wild.

Perhaps 'twas raindrops beating on the glass,
Perhaps a bird, or else a dash of hail—
It seemed like childish fingers, seeking there
A shelter from the gale.

And then the latch was lifted stealthily,
I heard a light step on the winding stair,
I crept out, wondering who the child might be—
But there was no one there.

Oh, did some lonely, childish spirit roam
Upon the dreary moor that winter's night?
Some little angel-child, astray from home,
Crying with cold and fright?

All night I heard it fumbling at the latch,
All night, upon the wind, I heard it weep,
And still the rain fell and the tempest roared—
All night I could not sleep.

—J.M.