Our Little Ghost

Our Little GhostOft in the silence of the night,When the lonely moon rides high,When wintry winds are whistling,And we hear the owl's shrill cry,In the quiet, dusky chamber,By the flickering firelight,Rising up between two sleepers,Comes a spirit all in white. A winsome little ghost it is,Rosy-cheeked, and bright of eye;With yellow curls all breaking looseFrom the small cap pushed awry.Up it