AN ABANDONED INN

Along this stillness steals their ghostly laughter:

The oaths they swore, the clamant song and jest,

Are haunting still each oaken beam and rafter,

That looked on many a gay, forgotten guest.

The clink of cups, the muffled clang of swords,

These, and the flapping cards, will not be stilled,

Though dust has spread the long-abandoned boards,

And hides at last the crimson wine they spilled.

And still, they say, on sullen nights of rain,

A passer-by may hear, beyond the door,

An old accounting for this ugly stain

That makes an evil pattern on the floor —

A sound of dice — an oath — a crashing chair...

And sudden, grievous silence fallen there.