From Where I Sit, I See The Stars, And Down The Chilly Floor The Moon Between The Frozen Bars Is Glimmering Dim And Hoar. Without In Many A Peak'D Mound The Glinting Snowdrifts Lie; There Is No Voice Or Living Sound; The Embers Slowly Die. Yet Some Wild Thing Is In Mine Ear; I Hold My Breath And Hark; Out Of The Depth I Seem To Hear A Crying In The Dark: No Sound Of Man Or Wife Or Child, No Sound Of Beast That Groans, Or Of The Wind That Whistles Wild, Or Of The Tree That Moans: I Know Not What It Is I Hear; I Bend My Head And Hark: I Cannot Drive It From Mine Ear, That Crying In The Dark.