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!)


1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (2 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)

Wraiths