Phantasmagoria and Other Poems

One winter night, at half-past nine, Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy, I had come home, too late to dine, And supper, with cigars and wine, Was waiting in the study.

There was a strangeness in the room, And Something white and wavy Was standing near me in the gloom— I took it for the carpet-broom Left by that careless slavey.

But presently the Thing began To shiver and to sneeze: On which I said “Come, come, my man! That’s a most inconsiderate plan. Less noise there, if you please!”

“I’ve caught a cold,” the Thing replies, “Out there upon the landing.” I turned to look in some surprise, And there, before my very eyes, A little Ghost was standing!

He trembled when he caught my eye, And got behind a chair. “How came you here,” I said, “and why? I never saw a thing so shy. Come out! Don’t shiver there!”

He said “I’d gladly tell you how, And also tell you why; But” (here he gave a little bow) “You’re in so bad a temper now, You’d think it all a lie.

“And as to being in a fright, Allow me to remark That Ghosts have just as good a right In every way, to fear the light, As Men to fear the dark.”

“No plea,” said I, “can well excuse Such cowardice in you: For Ghosts can visit when they choose, Whereas we Humans ca’n’t refuse To grant the interview.”

He said “A flutter of alarm Is not unnatural, is it? I really feared you meant some harm: But, now I see that you are calm, Let me explain my visit.