There Are Ghosts In The Room. As I Sit Here Alone, From The Dark Corners There They Come Out Of The Gloom, And They Stand At My Side And They Lean On My Chair. There'S The Ghost Of A Hope That Lighted My Days With A Fanciful Glow, In Her Hand Is The Rope That Strangled Her Life Out. Hope Was Slain Long Ago. But Her Ghost Comes To-Night, With Its Skeleton Face And Expressionless Eyes, And It Stands In The Light, And Mocks Me, And Jeers Me With Sobs And With Sighs. There'S The Ghost Of A Joy, A Frail, Fragile Thing, And I Prized It Too Much, And The Hands That Destroy Clasped It Close, And It Died At The Withering Touch. There'S The Ghost Of A Love, Born With Joy, Reared With Hope, Died In Pain And Unrest, But He Towers Above All The Others - This Ghost: Yet A Ghost At The Best. I Am Weary, And Fain Would Forget All These Dead: But The Gibbering Host Make My Struggle In Vain, In Each Shadowy Corner There Lurketh A Ghost.