The gleam of china, the glitter of glass,
All the little things that were home to me -
Everything as it used to be.

Then I said, "The fire of life still burns,
And I have returned whence none returns:
I will warm my hands where the fire is lit,
I will warm my heart in the heart of it!"
So I called aloud to the one within:
"Open, open, and let me in!
Let me in to the fire and the light -
It is very cold out here in the night!"
There was never a stir or an answering breath -
Only a silence as deep as death.

Then I beat on the window, and called, and cried.
No one heard me, and none replied.
The golden silence lay warm and deep,
And I wept as the dead, forgotten, weep;
And there was no one to hear or see -
To comfort me, to have pity on me.

But deep in the silence something stirred -
Something that had not seen or heard -
And two drew near to the window-pane,
Kissed in the moonlight and kissed again,
And looked, through my face, to the moon-shroud, spread
Over the garlanded garden bed;
And--"How ghostly the moonlight is!" she said.