Until, at last, grown bolder, I rapped; and in a twinkling, The house was all afire With welcome in the night: First, in my mother’s room, a light; And then, her foot upon the stair; A bolt shot back; a candle’s flare: A happy cry; and to her breast She hugged her heart’s desire: And hushed her fears to rest. Then, shivering in the keen night air, My sleepy sister, laughing came; And drew us in: and stirred to flame The smouldering kitchen-fire; and set The kettle on the kindling red: And, as I watched the homely blaze, And thought of wandering days With sharp regret; I missed my father: then I heard How he was still a-bed; And had been ailing, for a day or so; But, now was waking, if I’d go... My foot already on the stair, In answer to my mother’s word I turned; and saw in dull amaze, Behind her, as she stood all unaware, An old man sitting in my father’s chair. A strange old man ... yet, as I looked at him, Before my eyes, a dim Remembrance seemed to swim Of some old man, who’d lurked about the boat, While we were still at sea; And who had crouched beside me, at the oar, As we had rowed ashore; Though, at the time, I’d taken little note, I felt I’d seen that strange old man before: But, how he’d come to follow me, Unknown... And to be sitting there... Then I recalled the cold breath in my hair, When I had stood, alone, Before the bolted door. And now my mother, wondering sore To see me stare and stare, So strangely, at an empty chair, Turned, too; and saw the old man there. And as she turned, he slowly raised His drooping head; And looked upon her with her husband’s eyes. She stood, a moment, dazed; And watched him slowly rise, As though to come to her: Then, with a cry, she sped Upstairs, ere I could stir. Still dazed, I let her go, alone: I heard her footstep overhead: I heard her drop beside the bed, With low forsaken moan. Yet, I could only stare and stare Upon my father’s empty chair. THE HARE My hands were hot upon a hare, Half-strangled, struggling in a snare-- My knuckles at her warm wind-pipe-- When suddenly, her eyes shot back, Big, fearful, staggering and black: And, ere I knew, my grip was slack; And I was clutching empty air, Half-mad, half-glad at my lost luck... When I awoke beside the stack.