I think the ghost of Leerie
Came by with ghostly tread,
And little lighted tapers,
When we had gone to bed,—
Past gravel-walk and garden,
As he was wont to go,
And lit these yellow lanterns,
Burning where thy blow.
VALUES
It moves my heart but little to suppose
That planted men, like planted seed, shall rise,
That faulty dust re-blossoms as the rose,
In new perfections for more perfect skies;
Nor should I greatly care if one who knew
Should tell that out beyond the Grievous Gate,
The sleepy country that we travel to,
Has never any waking, soon or late.
But what if I should hear a prophet say:
Next year will bring no robins round the door,
And April will not have her ancient way,
The hedge will bear no blossoms any more,
The earth will not be green for living men,—
For Spring will not pass by this way again!...
A GHOST OUT OF STRATFORD
For all the crowd that packed the house to-night,
Marked you the vacant seat none came to claim,...
The fourth row from the front, and to the right?...
Vacant, I call it now.... But I could name
A thing that happened when the lights were off,
Of one who walked in buckles down the aisle,
Wearing a great hat that he scorned to doff,
And richly kerchiefed, wrist and neck in style.