“Thou hast no need to speak the spell
That thou hast learned,” said she,
“For I will wake him from his sleep
And take his soul from thee.”
She stooped above him where he lay,
She laid her lips on his;
He stirred, he spake: “These seven long years
I have waited for thy kiss.
“My soul has hung upon thy lips
And trembled at thy breath,
Thou hast given me life in a cup to drink,
As God will give me death.
“Why didst thou fear to kill my soul
Which only lives for thee?
Thou hast put seven wasted years,
O love, ’twixt thee and me.”
THE GHOST BEREFT
The poor ghost came through the wind and rain
And passed down the old dear road again.
Thin cowered the hedges, the tall trees swayed
Like little children that shrank afraid.
The wind was wild and the night was late
When the poor ghost came to the garden gate;
Dank were the flower-beds, heavy and wet,
The weeds stood up where the rose was set.