I

A shaded lamp and a waving blind,

And the beat of a clock from a distant floor:

On this scene enter—winged, horned, and spined—

A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore;

While ’mid my page there idly stands

A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands . . .

II

Thus meet we five, in this still place,

At this point of time, at this point in space.

—My guests parade my new-penned ink,

Or bang at the lamp-glass, whirl, and sink.

“God’s humblest, they!” I muse.  Yet why?

They know Earth-secrets that know not I.

Max Gate, 1899.