How Naked, How Without a Wall

How naked, how without a wall 
  Against the wind and the sharp sleet, 
He fares at night, who fares at all 
  Forth from the stove's heat.

Or if the moon be in the sky, 
  Or if the stars, and the late moon 
Not rising till an hour goes by, 
  And Libra setting soon,

How naked, how without a stitch 
  To shut him from the earnest air,
He goes, who by the whispering ditch 
  Alone at night will fare.

Nor is it but the rising chill
  From the warm weeds, that strikes him cold; 
Nor that the stridulant hedge grows still,
  Like what has breath to hold,

Until his tiny foot go past
  At length, with its enormous sound;
Nor yet his helpless shadow cast
  To any wolf around.

Bare to the moon and her cold: rays 
  He takes the road, who by and by
Goes bare beneath the moony gaze
  Of his own awful eye.

He sees his motive, like a fox 
  Hid in a badger's hole; he sees 
His honour, strangled, in a box, 
  Her neck lashed to her knees.

The man who ventures forth alone 
  When other men are snug within, 
Walks on his marrow, not his bone, 
  And lacks his outer skin.

The draughty caverns of his breath 
  Grow visible, his heart shines through: 
Surely a thing which only death 
  Can have the right to do.