They Are Not Sleeping
Between these Gothic walls of mortar and stone,
O, here with dread is where I roam,
For the misty forms that here come creeping
Are of the dead abroad who are not sleeping!
They move where shadows lie
And from behind the walls upon me spy,
Then they taunt me and defy me,
They come each night to try me,
For they are not sleeping!
They pace the attic; they walk the stairs,
In every room they haunt, I have seen them there;
They are the torments of my being,
O, these wraiths that I am seeing!
And my soul has now become their keeping,
For the dead are not always sleeping!
Between these Gothic walls of mortar and stone,
O, here am I, but not alone,
For my companions that come nightly creeping
Are of the dead who are not sleeping!
And in the mirror I have seen their faces,
I have felt the horror from their embraces,
Then they taunt me and defy me,
And in their misty forms they try me,
For they are not sleeping!
O, from this mortar and stone I cannot flee,
For too it is a part of me,
And from the walls you may hear me talking
Or upon the floorboards hear me walking,
I am evermore the mist that you will see creeping,
For I am among those who are not sleeping!
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