Ghosts of a Lunatic Asylum

Here, where men's eyes were empty and as bright / As the blank windows set in glaring brick, / When the wind strengthens from the sea -- and night / Drops like a fog and makes the breath come thick;

By the deserted paths, the vacant halls, / One may see figures, twisted shades and lean, / Like the mad shapes that crawl an Indian screen, / Or paunchy smears you find on prison walls.

Turn the knob gently! There's the Thumbless Man, / Still weaving glass and silk into a dream, / Although the wall shows through him -- and the Khan / Journeys Cathay beside a paper stream.

A Rabbit Woman chitters by the door -- / -- Chilly the grave-smell comes from the turned sod -- / Come -- lift the curtain -- and be cold before / The silence of the eight men who were God!