And every nook of the house was dim and strange and dread,

I am afraid of my house, and I wish I knew
Who
Those other tenants were
That my landlord leased it to;
I know that they have been there,
For sometimes I find a shoe
Or a ribbon for the hair . . .
There's a grandfather clock on the stair,
And an odd little bust on a bracket, for which I don't very much care.

"They have left long since; what matter to you?" . . .
True.
But I wish my house was bare
And perfectly clean and new,
For the hollowed seat of a chair
Or a rod wrenched askew
Gives me the creeps, and I dare
Hardly breathe in an air
So thick with the dust of those who once were here, and who now are . .
. where?

IV.

One day the storm was loud, the clouds clung thick and red Close to the windows, the sky glowed like a copper pan, The thunder muttered and cracked, the lightning leapt from its bed Like a beast, the rain ripped down like a curtain of iron thread;

And odd things shuffled and squeaked in the corners, and queer feet ran Hither and thither . . . the light was split, furled and unfurled like a fan . . . That was a day of God's ban.

And it suddenly came to my mind that the house was inhabited By people that hid themselves, and I swore to seek and scan And find those flittering feet, and the voices, and what they said; But the lightning flashed and shook me, and dizzied all my head, And I searched each room and closet, and I sped and sped and sped Through turret and tower and corridor, till trembling I began To open the dungeon doors, and lo! in the deepest, an old, old man That sat, and sang, and span.

V.

And, do you know, I could not find him again! Not once! Though I sometimes fancied I heard a strain With a sort of humming refrain; And I'd tip-toe down the staircase, close to the wall To deaden my footfall; And the singing would rise and wane, And the flame of my secret candle shrink, and shoot up smoky and tall.