THE GHOST
That little maid (Myself) I met,—was it in dreams we played?—
White April spun its lacy net, the timid, budding boughs were yet
Too tender green for shade;
"Sweetheart," quoth I, "where hast thou been so long away from me?
Oft as the boughs turned white and green, thy like in daffodils I've seen
And yet I saw not thee."
White April spun its lacy net, the timid, budding boughs were yet
Too tender green for shade;
"Sweetheart," quoth I, "where hast thou been so long away from me?
Oft as the boughs turned white and green, thy like in daffodils I've seen
And yet I saw not thee."
Wondering she looked. I sighed; "Alas, hast thou forgotten, too?
Forgot our fairies in the grass and how we knelt to hear them pass
Amid the dusk and dew?
Our castle and our wood-bird's call,—these, these hast thou forgot?
The pebbles near the mill-stream's fall?—" "Nay, nay," spake she, "I know them all,
But thy face, I know not."
Forgot our fairies in the grass and how we knelt to hear them pass
Amid the dusk and dew?
Our castle and our wood-bird's call,—these, these hast thou forgot?
The pebbles near the mill-stream's fall?—" "Nay, nay," spake she, "I know them all,
But thy face, I know not."
"Child, child, thou art that self I had, thou shalt not go!" I cried.
"Ah, no," she said, "for I am glad, whilst thou art strange and old and sad;
Mine is the green world wide!"—
That little maid (Myself) alone sped through sweet April's light,
Into a world all pristine sown with Spring's nativity new-blown
And never hint of night.
"Ah, no," she said, "for I am glad, whilst thou art strange and old and sad;
Mine is the green world wide!"—
That little maid (Myself) alone sped through sweet April's light,
Into a world all pristine sown with Spring's nativity new-blown
And never hint of night.
42
