HAUNTED.

When grave the twilight settles o'er my roof,

And from the haggard oaks unto my door

The rain comes, wild as one who rides before

His enemies that follow, hoof to hoof;

And in each window's gusty curtain-woof

The rain-wind sighs, like one who mutters o'er

Some tale of love and crime; and, on the floor,

The sunset spreads red stains as bloody proof;

From hall to hall and stealthy stair to stair,

Through all the house, a dread that drags me toward

The ancient dusk of that avoided room,

Wherein she sits with ghostly golden hair,

And eyes that gaze beyond her soul's sad doom,

Bending above an unreal harpsichord.