Now the ice lays its smooth claws on the sill, br The sun looks from the hill br Helmed in his winter casket, br And sweeps his arctic sword across the sky. br The water at the mill br Sounds more hoarse and dull. br The miller's daughter walking by br With frozen fingers soldered to her basket br Seems to be knocking br Upon a hundred leagues of floor br With her light heels, and mocking br Percy and Douglas dead, br And Bruce on his burial bed, br Where he lies white as may br With wars and leprosy, br And all the kings before br This land was kingless, br And all the singers before br This land was songless, br This land that with its dead and living waits the Judgement Day. br But they, the powerless dead, br Listening can hear no more br Than a hard tapping on the floor br A little overhead br Of common heels that do not know br Whence they come or where they go br And are content br With their poor frozen life and shallow banishment.