I.

The shadows sit and stand within its door Like uninvited guests and poor, And all the long, hot summer day A dry green locust whirs its roundelay, And the shadows halt at the door. The sheeted iron upon the roof Stretches its weary hide and cracks; The spider weaves his windy woof In dingy closet cracks, And all a something lacks. The freckled snake crawls o'er the floor, Tongues at the shadows in the door, And where the musty mosses run Basks in the sun.