 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
459
THE BOLD GHOST.
The year was young, but the place was old,
And the house had gone to sleep,
And the ghost that came by night was bold,
For the silence was so deep.
And the house had gone to sleep,
And the ghost that came by night was bold,
For the silence was so deep.
Aloud he called to his heart's fair queen,
But she would not unbar the door,
And the window from which she used to lean
Stirred at her touch no more.
But she would not unbar the door,
And the window from which she used to lean
Stirred at her touch no more.
In vain through the empty night he cried,
But there came no answering tone;
And then he bethought him that since he died
A hundred years had flown.
But there came no answering tone;
And then he bethought him that since he died
A hundred years had flown.
But a hundred years should have brought more near
The Love that he loved so well;
And the bold ghost's heart turned cold with fear—
Where was the old-time spell?
The Love that he loved so well;
And the bold ghost's heart turned cold with fear—
Where was the old-time spell?
Had she forgotten what he held fast?—
They say 't is a woman's way;
Was it only a dream that Love could last,
The dream of an idle day?
They say 't is a woman's way;
Was it only a dream that Love could last,
The dream of an idle day?
460
From the silent house the bold ghost turned—
Why dream that a dream is true?—
Ashes were where Love's fire once burned;
Death's meaning at last he knew.
Why dream that a dream is true?—
Ashes were where Love's fire once burned;
Death's meaning at last he knew.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |