Our Little Ghost

Our Little Ghost

By Louisa May Alcott

OFT(ôft), in the silence of the night,
When the lonely moon rides(rīd) high,
When wintry(ˈwint(ə)rē) winds are whistling(ˈ(h)wisəl),
And we hear the owl’s(oul) shrill(SHril) cry,
In the quiet, dusky(ˈdəskē) chamber(ˈCHāmbər),
By the flickering(ˈflikəriNG) firelight,
Rising up between two sleepers,
Comes a spirit all in white.

A winsome(ˈwinsəm) little ghost it is,
Rosy(ˈrōzē)-cheeked(CHēk), and bright of eye;
With yellow curls(kərl) all breaking loose(lo͞os)
From the small cap pushed awry(əˈrī).
Up it climbs among the pillows(ˈpilō),
For the “big dark” brings no dread,
And a baby’s boundless fancy(ˈfansē)
Makes a kingdom of a bed.

A fearless little ghost it is;
Safe the night seems as the day;
The moon is but a gentle face,
And the sighing winds are gay(ɡā).
The solitude is full of friends,
And the hour brings no regrets(rəˈɡret);
For, in this happy little soul,
Shines a sun that never sets.

A merry(ˈmerē) little ghost it is,
Dancing gayly by itself,
On the flowery(ˈflou(ə)rē) counterpane(ˈkoun(t)ərˌpān),
Like a tricksy(ˈtriksē) household elf(elf);
Nodding to the fitful shadows,
As they flicker on the wall;
Talking to familiar(fəˈmilyər) pictures,
Mimicking(ˈmimik) the owl’s shrill call.

A thoughtful little ghost it is;
And, when lonely gambols(ˈɡambəl) tire,
With chubby(ˈCHəbē) hands on chubby knees,
It sits winking at the fire.
Fancies(ˈfansē) innocent(ˈinəsənt) and lovely
Shine before those baby-eyes, –
Endless fields of dandelions(ˈdandlˌīən),
Brooks, and birds, and butterflies.

A loving little ghost it is:
When crept(krept) into its nest,
Its hand on father’s shoulder laid,
Its head on mother’s breast(brest),
It watches each familiar face,
With a tranquil(ˈtraNGkwəl), trusting eye;
And, like a sleepy little bird,
Sings its own soft lullaby(ˈlələˌbī).

Then those who feigned(fānd) to sleep before,
Lest(lest) baby play till dawn,
Wake and watch their folded flower –
Little rose without a thorn(THôrn).
And, in the silence of the night,
The hearts that love it most
Pray tenderly(ˈtendərlē) above its sleep,
“God bless our little ghost!”

https://americanliterature.com/author/louisa-may-alcott/poem/our-little-ghost