The Haunted House

It is vacant in the daylight,
There is nothing living there.
But at night the foot of Something
Goes up and down the stair.

There's a fence of rusted pickets;
In the yard the tangled grass
Clutches at the feet in warning:
Every pane's a shattered glass;

On a plot where burst a fountain
Prone a marble naiad lies
Staring up in sun or starshine
With unseeing, soulless eyes;

Ancient weeds have choked the flowers
That in patterned order stood;
Step by step with sure encroachment,
Marches in the gloomy wood. . . . .

It is vacant in the daylight,
There is nothing living there;
For at night the foot of SOMETHING
Goes up and down the stair.
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