A chap at the door — a lichtit neep
Rikken o' cannel-flame.
The pitterin-patt o' feery feet;
Guisers, thrangin the lane.

The fleggit myowt o' a lanely bairn,
Wha kens that aa's nae richt,
Wis yon a cat — or a midnicht hag
Wi her black, black back arched ticht?

Nocht bit a whigmaleerie?
Fowk say, that tombs are teem,
That the deid are walkin eerie
Wi rypit stars for een.

A chap at the door — or wis't the win
Scrattin the windae pane?
The pitterin-patt o' fairy feet
In ghaistly claes; or rain?