The sounds in the evening
Go all through the house, 
The click of the clock  
And the pick of the mouse,
The footsteps of people 
Upon the top floor,  
The skirts of my mother  
That brush by the door, 
The crick in the boards,  
And the creek of the chairs, 
The fluttering murmurs  
Outside on the stairs, 
The ring of the bell, 
The arrival of guests, 
The laugh of my father 
At one of his jests, 
The clashing of dishes  
As dinner goes in,   
The babble of voices 
That distance makes thin,  
The mewing of cats  
That seem just by my ear,  
The hooting of owls 
That can never seem near,  
The queer little noises    
That no one explains… 
Till the moon through the slats 
of my window-blind rains,
And the world of my eyes  
And my ears melts like steam    
As I find my pillow     
The world of my dream. 


This poem is in the public domain.