THE old house leans upon a tree br Like some old man upon a staff: br The night wind in its ancient porch br Sounds like a hollow laugh. br br The heaven is wrapped in flying clouds, br As grandeur cloaks itself in gray: br The starlight flitting in and out, br Glints like a lanthorn ray. br br The dark is full of whispers. Now br A fox-hound howls: and through the night, br Like some old ghost from out its grave, br The moon comes, misty white.