WRAITHS
They know not the green leaves;
In whose earth-haunting dream
Dimly the forest heaves,
And voiceless goes the stream.
Strangely they seek a place
In love's night-memoried hall;
Peering from face to face,
Until some heart shall call
And keep them, for a breath,
Half-mortal ... (Hark to the rain!) ...
They are dead ... (O hear how death
Gropes on the shutter'd pane!)
PHANTOM
The clock has stopped; and the wind's dropped:
A candle burns with moon-gold flame.
Blank silence whispers at my ears,
'Though I've been dead these coffin'd years,
'You'll never choke my shame.'
'Dip your quill in clotted ink:
'Write; I'll quicken you to think
'In my old fiery alphabet.'
The candle-flame upon its wick
Staggers; the time-piece starts to tick;
And down the dark the wind blows wet.
* * * * * * *
Good angels, help me to forget.
THE DARK HOUSE
Dusk in the rain-soaked garden,
And dark the house within.
A door creaked: someone was early
To watch the dawn begin.
But he stole away like a thief
In the chilly, star-bright air:
Though the house was shuttered for slumber,
He had left one wakeful there.
Nothing moved in the garden.
Never a bird would sing,
Nor shake and scatter the dew from the boughs
With shy and startled wing.
But when that lover had passed the gate
A quavering thrush began...
'Come back; come back!' he shrilled to the heart
Of the passion-plighted man.