I LOATHE this room, for it seems to blab
A hideous secret I would hide;
With its sly, straight chairs, its wall-paper drab,
Its corners cool and its hearthstone wide.

Invisible hands reach forth, as fain
To clutch at Something; and here and there
Lurk shadowy heads; and moans of pain,
Dulled down by dust, infest the air.

Dark innuendos and ugly hints,
Too delicate to be more than guessed,
Move o'er the floor; in the very tints
Of the curtains evil is dim-expressed.

Whene'er I enter, I feel the jeers;
The mirrors mow at me, face to face;
Noon and night, 'tis a nest for fears,
A sneaking, pitiless, hellish place.

Open the windows, throw back the door,
Let wind-sweet sunlight flood in and shine!
But oh, for my soul as it was before,—
The spirit indwelling is mine, is mine!