THE long white windows blankly stare br Across the sodden, tangled grass, br Weed-covered are the pathways where br No footsteps ever pass; br No whispers wake, no kisses die, br No laughter thrills the dwindling flowers, br Only the night hears sigh on sigh br From ghosts of long-dead hours. br br br None come here now to laugh or weep; br The spider spins on stair and hall, br And round the windows shadows creep, br And loathly creatures crawl. br Cold is the hearth; the door is fast; br No guest the silent threshold sees br Save ghosts out of the happy past,-- br And one who is as these.