All around the house is the jet-black night; <br />It stares through the window-pane; <br />It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, <br />And it moves with the moving flame. <br /> <br />Now my little heart goes a beating like a drum, <br />With the breath of the Bogies in my hair; <br />And all around the candle and the crooked shadows come, <br />And go marching along up the stair. <br /> <br />The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp, <br />The shadow of the child that goes to bed-- <br />All the wicked shadows coming tramp, tramp, tramp, <br />With the black night overhead.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shadow-march/
