I came back late and tired last night
Into my little room,
To the long chair and the firelight
And comfortable gloom.

But as I entered softly in
I saw a woman there,
The line of neck and cheek and chin,
The darkness of her hair,
The form of one I did not know
Sitting in my chair.

I stood a moment fierce and still,
Watching her neck and hair.
I made a step to her; and saw
That there was no one there.

It was some trick of the firelight
That made me see her there.
It was a chance of shade and light
And the cushion in the chair.

Oh, all you happy over the earth,
That night, how could I sleep?
I lay and watched the lonely gloom;
And watched the moonlight creep
From wall to basin, round the room,
All night I could not sleep.

Meaning

A warm room that turns strange

The speaker comes home late, worn out, expecting the usual comfort of their small room—the long chair, the firelight, and that familiar, soft darkness that helps a person unwind. But the scene doesn’t behave. In the flicker of the fire, the speaker sees the outline of a woman already sitting in the chair: the curve of her neck, cheek, and chin, the weight of dark hair, a body at rest where rest was supposed to be waiting for him alone. For a breath, the room gives him presence. And then, when he moves closer, the image dissolves. It was only light and cushion arranging themselves into the shape he wanted. The moment lingers, though. The poem turns from comfort to ache. The speaker lies awake, feeling the emptiness more sharply because for a second it looked like it might be gone. Moonlight crawls around the walls, slow and indifferent, as he watches it, wide-eyed, all night. The “comfortable gloom” becomes a “lonely gloom.” Home still has the same furniture and the same fire, but without a living companion it becomes a place where shadows tease and memory stings.

What the woman means

The woman is not a ghost so much as a wish given a temporary outline. She stands for the person the speaker longs for—maybe a lover, maybe simply someone to share the room with. The mind supplies what the heart lacks, and then snatches it back. That quick reversal explains the last stanza’s sleeplessness. Once you almost have company, being alone feels worse.

Literary Interpretation

How the poem builds feeling

Formally, the poem uses plain diction and steady quatrains to mirror the quiet domestic setting, but it threads in a careful pattern of light and sight to show how desire distorts perception. We move from “firelight” to “shade and light” to “moonlight,” and each kind of light both reveals and deceives. The fire invents a body; the moon measures out the hours of wakefulness. The rhyme and rhythm feel like ballad measure, which suits a private story told under the breath, the way one might confess a small shock before sleep. Line by line, the poet narrows our view: first the room, then the chair, then the line of “neck and cheek and chin.” That sequence mimics how eyes focus in dim light and how memory zooms in on missing details. The speaker’s initial certainty—“I saw a woman there”—gives way to a rational explanation—“some trick of the firelight”—but the emotional truth doesn’t go away. And that is the poem’s center: even when the mind corrects the eye, the body keeps feeling what it felt. The brief, direct address—“Oh, all you happy over the earth”—widens the room into a whole world where other people sleep easily, while he cannot. It’s a natural, human envy. The last image of moonlight creeping around the room is beautifully literal and quietly metaphorical: time keeps moving, but it does not heal anything tonight.

Why the ending matters

Ending with sleepless watching underscores that absence is most alive in the hours when nothing else is happening. The speaker can’t return to “comfortable gloom” because the almost-presence has sharpened his hunger. The poem leaves him awake, which means the yearning is still awake too.