DEAD

by: William Dean Howells (1837-1920)

OMETHING lies in the room

Over against my own;

The windows are lit with a ghastly bloom

Of candles, burning alone,

Untrimmed, and all aflare

In the ghastly silence there!

 

People go by the door,

Tiptoe, holding their breath,

And hush the talk that they held before,

Lest they should waken Death,

That is awake all night

There in the candlelight!

 

The cat upon the stairs

Watches with flamy eye

For the sleepy one who shall unawares

Let her go stealing by.

She softly, softly purrs,

And claws at the banisters.

 

The bird from out its dream

Breaks with a sudden song,

That stabs the sense like a sudden scream;

The hound the whole night long

Howls to the moonless sky,

So far, and starry, and high.

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