On a restless night, a person alone in a house tries to explain strange sounds—wind in the trees, branches against the wall—but something more insistent breaks through. A voice cries “Open!” and hands beat at the door. The speaker is terrified, moving in the dark to bolt the door, then shrinking against the wall as the light goes out. The repeated command becomes almost internal, as if the knocking has entered their mind. By the end, the original noises are questioned again, and the poem hints that this may not be a mere ghost: it could be a final call from love, or from someone loved and lost. The mood is eerie and claustrophobic, mixing dread with a strange tenderness. The reader feels the speaker’s fear but also the possibility that what frightens them is really grief or longing arriving uninvited.
The Call — Summary
Is it the wind that stirs the trees, Is it the trees that scratch the wall, Is it the wall that shakes and mutters, Is it a dumb ghost's call?
The wind steals in and twirls the candle, The branches heave and brush the wall, But more than tree or wild wind mutters This night, this night of all.
"Open!" a cry sounds, and I gasp. "Open!" and hands beat door and wall. "Open!" and each dark echo mutters. I rise, a shape and shadow tall.
"Open!" Across the room I falter, And near the door crouch by the wall; Thrice bolt the door as the voice mutters "Open!" and frail strokes fall.
"Open!" The light's out, and I shrink Quaking and blind against the wall; "Open!" no sound is, yet it mutters Within me now, this night of all.
Was it the wind that stirred the trees, Was it the trees that scratched the wall, Was it the wall that shook and muttered. Or Love's last, ghostly call?