Sometimes when ev'ning lamps are ebbing low
And all the earth lies hushed in solemn sleep
Within my lonely heart there burns a glow,
As lengthening shadows about me creep.

My weary glance falls o'er the dismal room
Where with rapturous eyes I seem to see
Beyond thick cobwebs, dust and direst gloom
A merry host of friends-my own library!

Worn musty books on shelves from olden days,
Brittle pages yellowed by hands of time,
Illuminating night with gladsome rays,
Lifting my bleak spirit to realms sublime.

Trooping merrily before my rapt gaze
Into flick'ring lamplight I watch them come,
Quaint men and ladies of forgotten days;
Golden laughter echoing in my home.

Into my eyes they smile, murm'ring with grace
Aerial speech they blithely chat with me,
They seem to belong to another race
Wakening in my heart sweet melody.

Dying lamplight sputters and they are gone.
Vanished! I stare about but find I none
Save a drowsy thrush flutes with hush of dawn
Only myself in the parlour alone.

~Hilda~