Other forms from out the shadows walk and grin with horrid grimness,
Mock you with their ceaseless chatter, as the firelight fades in dimness.
“Then, sometimes you feel the coolness of the west wind softly blowing,
Of the cool sweet wind of summer, fresh from where bright waves are flowing,
And it carries with it zephyrs, whispers of the happy childhood—
Of the joyous days of girlhood, and the fragrance of the wildwood.
“And you clutch with eager yearning, but to stay them in their fleeting,
Clutch at air and soulless nothing, vain is all your soul’s entreating;
Gone beyond is all the sweetness, carried by the zephyrs lightly,
Borne afar beyond your reaching, by the mocking phantoms, nightly.