The Old House
(1956)

I caught a glimpse of it in the vale
The fog was listing its ghostly hood,
And through the gap in the grey, grey wraiths,
I spotted the old house, deep in the wood. 

The night wind blew through the wooden porch,
The yellow-streaked fog danced in my view,
The chimney-pot crazily leant awry -
Through the broken window a lone owl flew. 

I trod with care past the old oak door,
Carefully, carefully in the rotting hall,
Fearing the planks which might give way
To send me hurtling beyond recall. 

I explored the house but nought was there
As I turned to go, a sigh I heard
I rushed to the light, It seemed absurd
That a house be haunted by a creaking stair.