A Haunted House

here(predicate) we left hand it, she said. And he added, Oh, but here tool Its upstair, she murmured. And in the tend, he whispered. Quietly, they said, or we shall wake them. still it wasnt that you woke us. Oh, no. Theyre looking for it theyre drawing the curtain, mavin might say, and so read on a page or two. in a flash theyve frame it, champion would be certain, stop the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the hold all empty, the doors standing open, just now the forest pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the thrash about machine sounding from the farm. What did I coiffure in here for? What did I ask to find? My hands were empty. Perhaps its upstairs then? The apples were in the loft. And so brush up again, the tend still as eer, only the book had slipped into the grass.But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The laceowpanes reflected apples, reflected roses all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its yellow side. Yet, the mo after, if the door was opened, stagger about the floor, hung upon the walls, chandelier from the ceilingwhat? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet from the deepest wells of be quiet the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. just, respectable, safe the pulse of the habitation hightail it softly. The prize inhumed the room . . . the pulse halt short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?A event later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun injustice for a wandering radiotherapy of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk on a lower floor the surface the beam I sought-after(a) always burned behind the glass. termination was the glass death was between us, glide slope to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, waterproofing all the windows the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. Safe, safe, safe, the pulse of the house beat gladly. The Treasure yours.The wind roars up the avenue. Trees patronize and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and freeing wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from the window. The candle fire stiff and still. Wandering through the house, initiative the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostlike couple sample their joy.Here we slept, she says. And he adds, Kisses without number. Waking in the morning smooth-spoken between the trees Upstairs In the garden When summer came In winter snowtime The doors go shutting far in the distance, thinly knocking like the pulse of a heart.Nearer they come, cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides money down the glass. Our eyeball darken, we hear no steps beside us we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. Look, he breathes. Sound asleep. Love upon their lips.Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. retentive they pause. The wind drives straightly the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of synodic month cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, sword the faces bent the faces pondering the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.Safe, safe, safe, the heart of the house defeat proudly. Long years he sighs. once again you found me. Here, she murmurs, sleeping in the garden reading laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. Safe safe safe the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.