The men who guard your slumbers—

And guard a house in a still street

Of drifting leaves and drifting feet,

A deep blue window where below

Lies moonlight on the roof like snow,

A clock that still the quarters tells

To the dove that roosts beneath the bell's

Grave canopy of silent brass

Round which the little night winds pass

Yet stir it not in the grey steeple;

And guard all small and drowsy people

Whom gentlest dusk doth disattire,