The Glimpse

She sped through the door
And, following in haste,
And stirred to the core,
I entered hot-faced;
But I could not find her,
No sign was behind her.
"Where is she?" I said:
--"Who?" they asked that sat there;
"Not a soul's come in sight."
--"A maid with red hair."
--"Ah." They paled. "She is dead. . . .
People see her at night,
But you are the first
On whom she has burst
In the keen common light."

It was ages ago,
When I was quite strong:
I have waited since,--O,
I have waited so long!
--Yea, I set me to own
The house, where now lone
I dwell in void rooms
Booming hollow as tombs!

But I never come near her,
Though nightly I hear her.
And my cheek has grown thin
And my hair has grown gray
With this waiting therein;
But she still keeps away!
Rate this poem: 

Become a Patron!

Reviews

No reviews yet.