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.