Eleanor Farjeon Poems >>
The Sounds in the Evening

The sounds in the evening         

Go all through the house,         

The click of the clock             

And the pick of the mouse,       

The footsteps of people           

Upon the top floor,                 

The skirts of my mother           

That brush by the door,           

The crick in the boards,           

And the creek of the chairs,     

The fluttering murmurs           

Outside on the stairs,               

The ring of the bell,                 

The arrival of guests,               

The laugh of my father             

At one of his jests,                   

The clashing of dishes               

As dinner goes in,                     

The babble of voices               

That distance makes thin,         

The mewing of cats                   

That seem just by my ear,         

The hooting of owls                   

That can never seem near,         

The queer little noises             

That no one explains.               

Till the moon through the slats   

Of my window-blind rains,         

And the world of my eyes           

And my ears melts like steam     

As I find my pillow                   

The world of my dream.