 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
42
APPARITIONS
At noon of night, and at the night's pale end,
Such things have chanced to me
As one, by day, would scarcely tell a friend
For fear of mockery.
Such things have chanced to me
As one, by day, would scarcely tell a friend
For fear of mockery.
Shadows, you say, mirages of the brain!
I know not, faith, not I.
Is it more strange the dead should walk again
Than that the quick should die?
I know not, faith, not I.
Is it more strange the dead should walk again
Than that the quick should die?
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |