Phantasmagoria and Other Poems

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One winter night, at half-past nine, Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy, I had come home, too late to dine, And supper, with cigars and wine, Was waiting in the study. There was a strangeness in the room, And Something white and wavy Was standing near me in the gloom – I took it for the carpet-broom Left by that careless slavey. But presently the Thing began To shiver and to sneeze: On which I said Come, come, my man! That’s a most inconsiderate plan. Less noise there, if you please!
I’ve caught a cold, the Thing replies, Out there upon the landing. I turned to look in some surprise, And there, before my very eyes, A little Ghost was standing!