The garden's full of scented wallflowers, br And, save that these stir faintly, nothing stirs; br Only a distant bell in hollow chime br Cried out just now for far-forgoten time, br And three reverberate words the great bell spoke. br The knocker's made of brass, the door of oak, br And such a clamor must be loosed on air br By the knocker's blow that knock I do not dare. br The silence is a spell, and if it break, br What things, that now lie sleeping, will awake? br br Are simple creatures lying there in cool br Sweet linen sheets, in slumber like the pool br Of moonlight white as water on the floor? br Will they come down laughing and unlock the door? br And will they draw me in, and let me sit br On the tall settle while the lamp is lit? br And shall I see their innocent clean lives br Shining as plainly as the plates and knives, br The blue bowls, and the brass cage with its bird? br br But listen! listen! surely something stirred br Within the house, and creeping down the halls br Draws close to me with sinister footfalls.