While Reading A Ghost Story
Opening my window for a breath of air
I meet the midnight cold, and am aware
Of wind-shook trees and harmless lonely stars.
There's nothing monstrous moving; nothing mars
This friendly blustering of mid-winter gloom
Behind me, in the comfort of my room,
A story I've been reading lies half read.
Corrupt revisitation by the dead.
Old houses have their secrets. Passions haunt them.
When day's celestials go, abhorred ones taunt them.
Inside our habitations darkness dwells.
While dusk of dawn is on the unwatched stair
And lofty windows whiten strangely, — there
What presence thins — with what frustrated spells?
I meet the midnight cold, and am aware
Of wind-shook trees and harmless lonely stars.
There's nothing monstrous moving; nothing mars
This friendly blustering of mid-winter gloom
Behind me, in the comfort of my room,
A story I've been reading lies half read.
Corrupt revisitation by the dead.
Old houses have their secrets. Passions haunt them.
When day's celestials go, abhorred ones taunt them.
Inside our habitations darkness dwells.
While dusk of dawn is on the unwatched stair
And lofty windows whiten strangely, — there
What presence thins — with what frustrated spells?
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