Mignon Isa hath left her bed
And bared her shoulders to the blast;
The long procession of the dead
Stared at her as it passed.
"Oh, there, methinks, my mother smiled,
And there my father walks forlorn,
And there the little nameless child
That was the parish scorn.
"And there my olden comrades move,
And there my sister smiles apart,
But nowhere is the fair, false love
That bent and broke my heart.
"Oh, false in life, oh, false in death,
Wherever thy mad spirit be,
Could it not come this night," she saith,
"And keep tryst with me?"
Mignon Isa has turned alone,
Bitter the pain and long the years;
The moonlight on the old gravestone
Was warmer than her tears.
All night the wild wind on the heath
Whistled its song of vague alarms;
All night in some mad dance of death
The poplars tossed their naked arms.
THE FORGOTTEN SOUL: MARGARET WIDDEMER
'Twas I that cried against the pane on All Souls' Night
(O pulse of my heart's life, how could you never hear?)
You filled the room I knew with yellow candlelight
And cheered the lass beside you when she cried in fear.
'Twas I that went beside you in the gray wood-mist
(O core of my heart's heart, how could you never know?)
You only frowned and shuddered as you bent and kissed
The lass hard by you, handfast, as I used to go.
'Twas I that stood to greet you on the churchyard pave
(O fire of my heart's grief, how could you never see?)
You smiled in careless dreaming as you crossed my grave
And hummed a little love-song where they buried me!