Classic Poem

There's moaning somewhere in the dark.
I want to know what it may be.
The wind is angry with the night—
Yet the wind's moan sounds not so near.
The wind will always moan at night.
'Tis in my ear my blood that moans—
My blood, forsooth.

Yet not so strangely moans my blood.
My blood is tranquil like the night.
I think a heart must moan somewhere.