Upon its stairs,—dim, vision-footed, glide
Faint gossamer gleams, like visible sighs,
As to and fro, athwart the skies,—
Wind-swung against the moon outside,—
The twisted branches sway
Of one great tree; I stand below,
And listen now,
Hearing a murmur come and go
Through its gnarled boughs; remembering how
Shady this chestnut made her room,