GHOSTS

O TO creep in by candle-light,

When all the world is fast asleep,

Out of the cold winds, out of the night,

Where the nettles wave and the rains weep!

O, to creep in, lifting the latch

So quietly that no soul could hear,

And, at those embers in the gloom,

Quietly light one careful match—

You should not hear it, have no fear—

And light the candle and look round

The old familiar room;

To see the old books upon the wall

And lovingly take one down again,

And hear—O, strange to those that lay

So patiently underground—

The ticking of the clock, the sound

Of clicking embers ...

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