Classic Poem

It was an old house; and there seemed to live
Along its mousey corridors still a gloom
Of lives long-cancelled. In my quiet room
Among my books, I could hear fugitive
Hesitant faint intrusions that withdrew
Before they had entered to my presence there.
The very light was thick, and on the stair
The darkness glowed and flickered. So I knew
I was at home here; for on every side
Beyond these walls life to me thus had seemed
Always a hush where ancient voices hide —
A dusk where candles had but lately gleamed —
A masque of those who went and us who bide —
A dream that many another ghost has dreamed.