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!

​

He trembled when he caught my eye,
      And got behind a chair.
“How came you here,” I said, “and why?
I never saw a thing so shy.
      Come out! Don’t shiver there!”

​

He said “I’d gladly tell you how,
      And also tell you why;
But” (here he gave a little bow)
“You’re in so bad a temper now,
      You’d think it all a lie.

​

“And as to being in a fright,
      Allow me to remark
That Ghosts have just as good a right
In every way, to fear the light,
      As Men to fear the dark.”

​

[Read the full text of Phantasmagoria here.]