 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Ghost
There passes by at dead of night,
When thou in sleep's embrace art lost;
One never seen by mortal sight,
And whom no mortal may accost.
When thou in sleep's embrace art lost;
One never seen by mortal sight,
And whom no mortal may accost.
His hand unheard tries every door,
If he an entrance there can win;
But still asleep he hears men snore,
And few rise up to let him in.
If he an entrance there can win;
But still asleep he hears men snore,
And few rise up to let him in.
But if he finds one watching still,
His door unbarred though late the hour;
With untold wealth that house he'll fill,
For he o'er riches holds the power.
His door unbarred though late the hour;
With untold wealth that house he'll fill,
For he o'er riches holds the power.
And health and plenty crown his lot,
Whose board long waits that stranger guest;
Who weary will not seek his cot,
Till he beside him there can rest.
Whose board long waits that stranger guest;
Who weary will not seek his cot,
Till he beside him there can rest.
Poem No. 633; late 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |