Old ghosts have I

That will not lie still,

But rise from the mist

To climb over the sill

Of memory — rattling chains.

Stirring the dusky odors

Of long-buried remains.

Eerie corpses almost consumed

By time, and the grave's decay,

Rise, their former shapes resumed.

Down the corridor of my day

They creep, to pause at every room.

With loud insistent knocking,

Bid me open to their gloom.

"I'll not let you in — now

Cease your clamor — go your way.

Leave me alone in peace to make

New ghosts for future days."