I know some lonely houses off the road
A robber 'd like the look of, —
Wooden barred,
And windows hanging low,
Inviting to
A portico,
Where two could creep :
One hand the tools,
The other peep
To make sure all 's asleep.
Old fashioned eyes,
Not easy to surprise !

How orderly the kitchen 'd look by night,
With just a clock, —
But they could gag the tick,
And mice won't bark ;
And so the walls don't tell,
None will.

A pair of spectacles afar just stir —
An almanac 's aware.
Was it the mat winked,
Or a nervous star ?
The moon slides down the stair
To see who 's there.

There 's plunder, — where ?
Tankard, or spoon,
Earring, or stone,
A watch, some ancient brooch
To match the grandmamma,
Staid sleeping there.

Day rattles, too,
Stealth 's slow ;
The sun has got as far
As the third sycamore.
Screams chanticleer,
"Who 's there?"
And echoes, trains away,
Sneer — "Where ?"
While the old couple, just astir,
Fancy the sunrise left the door ajar !