THE SOUNDS IN THE EVENING

Eleanor Fargeon 1881-1965

The sounds in the evening 

Go all through the house, 

The click of the clock 

And the pick of the mouse.

The footsteps of people 

Upon the top floor, 

The skirts of my mother 

That brush by the door.

The crick in the boards, 

And the creek of the chairs, 

The fluttering murmurs 

Outside on the stairs.

The ring of the bell, 

The arrival of guests, 

The laugh of my father 

At one of his jests.

The clashing of dishes 

As dinner goes in, 

The babble of voices 

That distance makes thin. 

The mewing of cats 

That seem just by my ear, 

The hooting of owls 

That can never seem near.

The queer little noises 

That no one explains,

Till the moon through the slats 

Of my window-blind rains. 

And the world of my eyes 

And my ears melts like steam 

As I find my pillow 

The world of my dream. 

-o=0=o-

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