Shadow March by Robert Louis Stevenson — Read

All round the house is the jet-black night; / It stares through the window-pane; / It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, / And it moves with the moving flame.

Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum, / With the breath of Bogie in my hair, / And all round the candle the crooked shadows come, / And go marching along up the stair.

The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp, / The shadow of the child that goes to bed -- / All the wicked shadows coming, tramp, tramp, tramp, / With the black night overhead.