When the clock hath ceased to tick br Soul-like in the gloomy hall; br When the latch no more doth click br Tongue-like in the red peach-wall; br When no more come sounds of play, br Mice nor children romping roam, br Then looks down the eye of day br On a dead house, not a home! br br But when, like an old sun's ghost, br Haunts her vault the spectral moon; br When earth's margins all are lost, br Melting shapes nigh merged in swoon, br Then a sound-hark! there again!- br No, 'tis not a nibbling mouse! br 'Tis a ghost, unseen of men, br Walking through the bare-floored house! br br And with lightning on the stair br To that silent upper room, br With the thunder-shaken air br Sudden gleaming into gloom, br With a frost-wind whistling round, br From the raging northern coasts, br Then, mid sieging light and sound, br All the house is live with ghosts! br br Brother, is thy soul a cell br Empty save of glittering motes, br Where no live loves live and dwell, br Only notions, things, and thoughts? br Then thou wilt, when comes a Breath br Tempest-shaking ridge and post, br Find thyself alone with Death br In a house where walks no ghost.