Night Voices

A poem by Arthur Conan Doyle

Father, father, who is that a-whispering?
Who is it who whispers in the wood?
You say it is the breeze
As it sighs among the trees,
But there's some one who whispers in the wood.

Father, father, who is that a-murmuring?
Who is it who murmurs in the night?
You say it is the roar
Of the wave upon the shore,
But there's some one who murmurs in the night.

Father, father, who is that who laughs at us?
Who is it who chuckles in the glen?
Oh, father, let us go,
For the light is burning low,
And there's somebody laughing in the glen.

Father, father, tell me what you're waiting for,
Tell me why your eyes are on the door.
It is dark and it is late,
But you sit so still and straight,
Ever staring, ever smiling, at the door.

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