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HER GHOST. 3
#1
III.

THOU wilt not speak! Day after silent day.
Thou sittest with me in this lonesome place:
The morning sunlight falls upon thy face;
Night comes, and thou and Night together stay,—
No sunshine warms thee, and no storms dismay.
I stretch my empty arms for thine embrace
Thou glidest from them with elusive grace:
Thine unresponsive lips will never say
The thing I long to hear; yet do I think,
From me to thee, the living to the dead,
Waiting together on the hither brink
Of Death's great middle sea, some influence shed
Must make thee know how now I hold thee dear,
Who loved thee not enough that other year.
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