Oft do I hear those windows ope And shut with dread surprise, And spirits murmur as they grope, But break not on the eyes. Still fancy spies the winding sheet, The phantom and the shroud, And bids the pulse of horror beat Throughout my ears aloud. Some unknown finger thumps the door, From one of falt'ring voice, Till some one seems to walk the floor With an alarming noise. The drum of horror holds her sound, Which will not let me sleep, When ghastly breezes float around, And hidden goblins creep. Methinks I hear some constant groan, The din of all the dead, While trembling thus I lie alone, Upon this restless bed. At length the blaze of morning broke On my impatient view, And truth or fancy told the joke, And bade the night adieu. 'Twas but the noise of prowling rats, Which ran with all their speed, Pursued in haste by hungry cats, Which on the vermin feed. The cat growl'd as she held her prey, Which shrieked with all its might, And drove the balm of sleep away Throughout the live-long night. Those creatures crumbling off the cheese Which on the table lay, Some cats too quick the rogues to seize, With rumbling lost their prey. Thus man is often, his own self, Who makes the night his ghost, And shrinks with horror from himself, Which is to fear the most. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A COWBOY'S HOPELESS LOVE by JAMES BARTON ADAMS SONG OF THE DOVE by FREDRIKA BREMER TO CATULLUS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES NIGHT by AUGUSTA COOPER BRISTOL A SEPTEMBER BIRTHDAY IN BRITTANY by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE JOY-VENDER by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN SUMMING UP ITALY; INSCRIBED TO INTELLIGENT PUBLICS OUT OF IT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |