The candlelight sweeps softly through the room,
Filling dim surfaces with golden laughter,
Touching with mystery each high hung rafter,
Cutting a path of promise through the gloom.
Slim little elves dance gently on each taper,
Wistful, small ghosts steal out of shrouded
And, like a line of vague enchanted mourners,
Great shadows sway like wind-blown sheets of paper.