 | The Giant and the Star |  |
II
And again I wake at night,
And can see the queerest things:—
In the gas-jet's lowered light,
The tall mantle—with its rings
And its mirror—seems a face
With a monster eye and nose
And a mouth,—the fireplace,—
Making faces at me. Those
Chairs against the wall move out,
Limping, as if lame with gout:
And I'm scared as scared can be,
Call, till father comes to me.
And can see the queerest things:—
In the gas-jet's lowered light,
The tall mantle—with its rings
And its mirror—seems a face
With a monster eye and nose
And a mouth,—the fireplace,—
Making faces at me. Those
Chairs against the wall move out,
Limping, as if lame with gout:
And I'm scared as scared can be,
Call, till father comes to me.
And he says, “There's nothing there;
Nothing that could hurt or scare.
And that mantle and that chair—
Guess that they were only courting,
Queerly courting,
While the other was cavorting.
You just saw what these were thinking;
Longing there to hug and kiss:
Seems to me you caught them winking.
But don't wake again for this.”
Nothing that could hurt or scare.
And that mantle and that chair—
Guess that they were only courting,
Queerly courting,
While the other was cavorting.
You just saw what these were thinking;
Longing there to hug and kiss:
Seems to me you caught them winking.
But don't wake again for this.”
| The Giant and the Star | |