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!' 'Aye, and cold.'

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

'Sight, touch, lips, eyes gleamed 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 chaos of vacancy shone;

Nought but vast sorrow was there --

The sweet cheat gone.