Talking hoarsely to the wind,

Seven in a row.

Something on the tops of trees

Seems to cry low.

Dry brown dead leaves

Scurry down the street

Shadowy men hurry by

On soft, soft feet

The yards behind the houses

Are deepening with shade

Light comes out of corners,

Quickly grown afraid

Black clouds are pilling up

And wind howls by.

Sunset is strange light

In all the upper sky

My own white picket fence

Is suddenly a wall

Before a haunted castle

I stand and call, and call

I blow with the hanging horn

Down the world's end

It wings above the cold clouds

Till the skies bend.

Out of blank windows

Peer ghostly eyes;

Silent by the porch step

A sleeping dragon lies.

I, a lonely warrior,

Shivering in the air.

Challenging the great unknown,

Can no one hear there.

White wall empty house,

Not a single light.

Must I blow the silver horn

By the gate all night?