The Frost at Midnight

The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet’s cry Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser every thought, The blackest night of the night.

And now the black night drew on; And when I commenced to write, So I must perceive the luxury. In all we do, we must be told of it. And I could have done as I please; But they will trust to us, those shadows that fly.

• Samuel Taylor Coleridge