Ghosts

How silent are the dead, Whose quiet feet don't stray; We see them face to face, As they go their lonely way. These ghostly apparitions, Who've forgotten all their fears; They rebuke our aching heart, And fill our time with tears. Beside the flickering fire, They steal the vacant chair; They glide all through the house, Passing silent up the stair. When comes the fall of night, And we are called to sleep; Around our head in dreams, These ghostly spirits creep. In dark forbidden hours, Their sighing rides the storm; They whisper to the soul, With voices so forlorn. How elusive are the dead, Who hear our anxious call; They float throughout the dark, And answer not at all.