The Ghost

"Who knocks?" "I, who was beautiful,

Beyond all dreams to restore,

I, from the roots of the dark thorn, am hither.

And knock on the door."

"Who speaks?" "I - once was my speech

Sweet as the bird's on the air,

When echo lurks by the waters to heed;

'Tis I speak thee fair."

"Dark is the hour!" "Ay, and cold."

"Lone is my house." "Ah, but mine?"

"Sight, touch, lips, eyes yearned in vain."

"Long dead these to thine ..."

Silence. Still faint on the porch

Brake the flames of the stars.

In gloom groped a hope-wearied hand

Over keys, bolts, and bars.

A face peered. All the grey night

In the chaos of vacancy shone;

Naught but vast sorrow was there -

The sweet cheat has gone.