The Haunted Chamber


    Each heart has its haunted chamber,
        Where the silent moonlight falls!
    On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
        There are whispers along the walls!

    And mine at times is haunted
        By phantoms of the Past
    As motionless as shadows
        By the silent moonlight cast.

    A form sits by the window,
        That is not seen by day,
    For as soon as the dawn approaches
        It vanishes away.

    It sits there in the moonlight
        Itself as pale and still,
    And points with its airy finger
        Across the window-sill.

    Without before the window,
        There stands a gloomy pine,
    Whose boughs wave upward and downward
        As wave these thoughts of mine.

    And underneath its branches
        Is the grave of a little child,
    Who died upon life's threshold,
        And never wept nor smiled.

    What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
        That haunt my troubled brain?
    That vanish when day approaches,
        And at night return again?

    What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
        But the statues without breath,
    That stand on the bridge overarching
        The silent river of death?


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