The Mouse

Standing close by you In the cold light Of two tall candles That measure the dark of night, I hear the mouse, The only thing that's moving In the quiet house.

Don't you hear it, That furious mouse? How can you sleep so deep And that noise in the house? Won't you stir At the furious scratching In the cupboard there?

No! a sharper sound Would wake you not; Not the sweetest fluting Tease you back to thought. Yet the scratching mouse Makes all my flesh a nervous Haunted house.

O, the dream, the dream Must be sweet and deep If life's scratching's heard not On your cold sleep. Yet if you should hear it, So furious and fretful-- How could you bear it?