HAUNTED

Between the moss and stone

The lonely lilies rise;

Wasted and overgrown

The tangled garden lies.

Weeds climb about the stoop

And clutch the crumbling walls;

The drowsy grasses droop —

The night wind falls.

The place is like a wood;

No sign is there to tell

Where rose and iris stood

That once she loved so well.

Where phlox and asters grew,

A leafless thornbush stands,

And shrubs that never knew

Her tender hands...

Over the broken fence

The moonbeams trail their shrouds;

Their tattered cerements

Cling to the gauzy clouds,

In ribbons frayed and thin —

And startled by the light,

Silence shrinks deeper in

The depths of night.

Useless lie spades and rakes;

Rust's on the garden-tools.

Yet, where the moonlight makes

Nebulous silver pools,

A ghostly shape is cast —

Something unseen has stirred.

Was it a breeze that passed?

Was it a bird?

Dead roses lift their heads

Out of a grassy tomb;

From ruined pansy-beds

A thousand pansies bloom.

The gate is opened wide —

The garden that has been,

Now blossoms like a bride...

Who entered in?