The Haunted Hour Part 18

Like a fancy--to your sad heart It would seem That my vision pa.s.sed and prayed you, Or my dream.

Then you would look with lonely eyes-- Lift your head-- And you would stir and sigh, and say, "She is dead."

Baffled by death and love, I lean Through the gloom.

O Lord of life! Am I forbid To cross the room?

HAUNTED: DON MARQUIS

A ghost is a freak of a sick man's brain?

Then why do you start and s.h.i.+ver so?

That's the sob and drip of a leaky drain?

But it sounds like another noise we know!

The heavy drops drummed red and slow, The drops ran down as slow as fate-- Do ye hear them still?--it was long ago!-- But here in the shadows I wait, and wait!

Spirits there be that pa.s.s in peace; Mine pa.s.sed in a whirl of wrath and dole; And the hour that your choking breath shall cease I will get my grip on your naked soul-- Nor pity may stay nor prayer cajole-- I would drag ye whining from h.e.l.l's own gate: To me, to me, ye must pay the toll!

And here in the shadows I wait, I wait!

The dead they are dead, they are out of the way?

And the ghost is a whim of an ailing mind?

Then why did ye whiten with fear to-day When ye heard a voice in the calling wind?

Why did ye falter and look behind?

At the creeping mists when the hour grew late?

Ye would see my face were ye stricken blind!

And here in the shadows I wait, I wait!

Drink and forget, make merry and boast, But the boast rings false and the jest is thin-- In the hour that I meet you ghost to ghost, Stripped of the flesh that you skulk within, Stripped to the coward soul 'ware of its sin, Ye shall learn, ye shall learn, whether dead men hate!

Ah, a weary time has the waiting been, But here in the shadows I wait, I wait!

"MY LOVE THAT WAS SO TRUE"

ONE OUT-OF-DOORS: SARAH PIATT

A ghost--is he afraid to be a ghost?

A ghost? It breaks my heart to think of it.

Something that wavers in the moon, at most; Something that wanders: something that must flit From morning, from the bird's breath and the dew.

Ah, if I knew,--ah, if I only knew!

Something so weirdly wan, so weirdly still!

O yearning lips that our warm blood can flush, Follow it with your kisses, if you will; O beating heart, think of its helpless hush.

Oh, bitterest of all, to feel we fear Something that was so near, that was so dear!

No--no, he is no ghost; he could not be; Something that hides, forlorn, in frost and brier; Something shut outside in the dark, while we Laugh and forget by the familiar fire; Something whose moan we call the wind, whose tears Sound but as rain-drops in our human ears.

SAILING BEYOND SEAS: JEAN INGELOW

Methought the stars were blinking bright, And the old brig's sail unfurl'd; I said, "I will sail to my love this night At the other side of the world."

I stepp'd abroad,--we sail'd so fast,-- The sun shot up from the bourn; But a dove that perch'd upon the mast Did mourn and mourn and mourn.

O fair dove! O fond dove!

And dove with the white, white breast, Let me alone, the dream is my own, And my heart is full of rest.

My true love fares on this great hill, Feeding his sheep for aye; I look'd in his hut, but all was still, My love was gone away.

I went to gaze in the forest creek, And the dove mourn'd on apace; No flame did flash, nor fair blue reek Rose up to show me his place.

O last love! O first love!

My love with the true, true heart, To think I have come to this your home, And yet--we are apart!

My love! He stood at my right hand, His eyes were grave and sweet.

Methought he said, "In this far land, O, is it thus we meet?

Ah, maid most dear, I am not here; I have no place,--no part,-- No dwelling more by sea or sh.o.r.e, But only in thy heart."

O fair dove! O fond dove!

Till night rose over the bourn, The dove on the mast, as we sail'd fast, Did mourn and mourn and mourn.

BETRAYAL: ALINE KILMER

Four hundred times the gla.s.s had run And seven times the moon had died Since my lover rode in his silver mail Away from his new-made bride.

A ghost-light gleamed in the field beyond And a wet, wet wind blew in from the sea When out of the mist my own true love Came up and stood by me.

My heart leapt up that had been still, My voice rang out that had been sad, Till my sister left her busy wheel To see what made me glad.

She saw my arms about his neck, She saw my head upon his breast.

Oh, why did my sister hate me so That she would not let me rest?

Loud then laughed my cruel sister, False and fair of face was she, "O that is never your own true love, For he lies dead in a far countrie!"

I loosed the clasp of my clinging arms And his s.h.i.+ning face grew still and white; My tears ran down like bitter rain As I watched him fade from sight.

May the salt sea bury me in its waves, May the mountains fall and cover my head, Since I had not faith in my only love When he came back from the dead.

THE TRUE LOVER: A.E. HOUSMAN

The lad came to the door at night, When lovers crown their vows, And whistled soft and out of sight In shadow of the boughs.

"I shall not vex you with my face Henceforth, my love, for aye; So take me in your arms a s.p.a.ce Before the east is gray.

"When I from hence away am past I shall not find a bride, And you shall be the first and last I ever lay beside."

She heard and went and knew not why; Her heart to his she laid; Light was the air beneath the sky But dark under the shade.

"Oh, do you breathe, lad, that your breast Seems not to rise and fall, And here upon my bosom prest There beats no heart at all?"