All on the autumn woods the mist lay white and chill;
And I heard the rising wind come piping down the hill,
And the stream sigh o'er the shallows
On the Eve of All Hallows
When the house was still.

I did not set the door wide, no meal did I spread,
Neither a cup of water nor a platter of bread,
They came without my calling
When the night was falling,
From the days that are dead.

No dogs barked at their passing from the silent fold;
There was no step on the doorsill nor print on the damp mould
To tell the world to-morrow
I supped with love and sorrow
Ere the hearth grew cold.

Dear dreams of years departed, kind ghosts of vanished days,
Slipped in then to the firelight, stretched their hands to the blaze,
Lost voices whispered nigh me,
Loved footsteps lingered by me
Ere they went their ways.

I heard a bird crying along the lonely hill,
I heard the stream sighing and the wind piping shrill
Across the frosty fallows . . .
On the eve of All Hallows
When the house was still.