Here, where men's eyes were empty and as bright <br />As the blank windows set in glaring brick, <br />When the wind strengthens from the sea -- and night <br />Drops like a fog and makes the breath come thick; <br /> <br />By the deserted paths, the vacant halls, <br />One may see figures, twisted shades and lean, <br />Like the mad shapes that crawl an Indian screen, <br />Or paunchy smears you find on prison walls. <br /> <br />Turn the knob gently! There's the Thumbless Man, <br />Still weaving glass and silk into a dream, <br />Although the wall shows through him -- and the Khan <br />Journeys Cathay beside a paper stream. <br /> <br />A Rabbit Woman chitters by the door -- <br />-- Chilly the grave-smell comes from the turned sod -- <br />Come -- lift the curtain -- and be cold before <br />The silence of the eight men who were God!<br /><br />Stephen Vincent Benet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ghosts-of-a-lunatic-asylum/
