Waking in your midnight bed
Hear the morse-key cricket sing
Above the footfalls of the clock;
Pull the blanket round your head:
Wrapt in sleep the morning cock
Has his crest beneath his wing.
Every living thing it seems
Sleeps. In bed and nest and lair
All are trafficking in dreams.
From their private worlds to this
Those at sea and in the air
Send their lonely messages
Troubling the winter night
With a whispered urgency.
So the wife who lies alone
Hears six hours before the light
Storm in air and storm at sea
Echoed in the cricket's drone.
Constant to her ancient track
Through the navigable stars
Soon the spinning earth will turn
House and city on her back
Around until another dawn
Filters through our window bars.
May the music of the key
Guide the tired pilot home
To the beacon's smaller light
Though the migratory storm,
That intruder enemy,
Prowls beneath the stars to-night.
May no lunar forces lift
To the moonlight on the deep
Swell of the Pacific, men
Who with whales and fishes sleep
Cradled in the current's drift
Whom the key shall call in vain.