Wraiths
They know not the green leaves;
In whose earth—haunting dream
Dimly the forest heaves,
And voiceless goes the stream.
Strangely they seek a place
In love’s night—memoried hall;
Peering from face to face,
Until some heart shall call
And keep them, for a breath,
Half—mortal ... (Hark to the rain!)...
They are dead ... (O hear how death
Gropes on the shutter’d pane!)
