Classic Poem

Across the lawn the leaves are shed,
The roses mouldered in their bed,
And where their frosty shadows spread
The gaunt trees watch and sigh.

The moonlight, like a ghostly pall,
Casts its weird glamour over all,
Where the great house stands grim and tall
Beneath the lonely sky.

Down the long path his hurried tread
Rings like a voice among the dead,
While by his side a stealthy dread
Glides grinning like a gnome.

Her window, with a vacant stare,
Gazes across the garden square.
Only some marigolds are there
To greet the wanderer home.