It's just the wind,nothing more.

when you hear something outside your door
don't jump so soon
the only light here is that of the moon
you only have the night to fear
a noise in a corridor, a creak in the floor

she's not back, it's just the age in the wood
she's never coming back even if she should
worry yourself, until finally you sleep
surely you kept something for peace
certainly you seek something of ease
but nothing,
only listening, enduring, a silent death
there is nothing there and soon of you, will be nothing left
nothing.
not even a bird above your door
it was just the wind
you've lost your Lenore