The Ghost's Petition

‘There’s a footstep coming: look out and see,’ ‘The leaves are falling, the wind is calling; No one cometh across the lea.’--

‘There’s a footstep coming; O sister, look.’-- ‘The ripple flashes, the white foam dashes; No one cometh across the brook.’--

‘But he promised that he would come: To-night, to-morrow, in joy or sorrow, He must keep his word, and must come home.

‘For he promised that he would come: 10 His word was given; from earth or heaven, He must keep his word, and must come home.

‘Go to sleep, my sweet sister Jane; You can slumber, who need not number Hour after hour, in doubt and pain.

‘I shall sit here awhile, and watch; Listening, hoping, for one hand groping In deep shadow to find the latch.’

After the dark, and before the light, One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping, 20 Who had watched and wept the weary night.

After the night, and before the day, One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping-- Watching, weeping for one away.

There came a footstep climbing the stair; Some one standing out on the landing Shook the door like a puff of air--

Shook the door, and in he passed. Did he enter? In the room centre Stood her husband: the door shut fast. 30

‘O Robin, but you are cold-- Chilled with the night-dew: so lily-white you Look like a stray lamb from our fold.

‘O Robin, but you are late: Come and sit near me--sit here and cheer me.’-- (Blue the flame burnt in the grate.)

‘Lay not down your head on my breast: I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you In the shelter that you love best.

‘Feel not after my clasping hand: 40 I am but a shadow, come from the meadow Where many lie, but no tree can stand.

‘We are trees which have shed their leaves: Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there; Only I grieve for my wife who grieves.

‘I could rest if you would not moan Hour after hour; I have no power To shut my ears where I lie alone.

‘I could rest if you would not cry; But there’s no sleeping while you sit weeping-- 50 Watching, weeping so bitterly.’--

‘Woe’s me! woe’s me! for this I have heard. Oh night of sorrow!--oh black to-morrow! Is it thus that you keep your word?

‘O you who used so to shelter me Warm from the least wind--why, now the east wind Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see.

‘O my husband of flesh and blood, For whom my mother I left, and brother, And all I had, accounting it good, 60

‘What do you do there, underground, In the dark hollow? I’m fain to follow. What do you do there?--what have you found?’--

‘What I do there I must not tell: But I have plenty: kind wife, content ye: It is well with us--it is well.

‘Tender hand hath made our nest; Our fear is ended, our hope is blended With present pleasure, and we have rest.’--

‘Oh, but Robin, I’m fain to come, 70 If your present days are so pleasant; For my days are so wearisome.

‘Yet I’ll dry my tears for your sake: Why should I tease you, who cannot please you Any more with the pains I take?’

MEMORY

I

I nursed it in my bosom while it lived, I hid it in my heart when it was dead; In joy I sat alone, even so I grieved Alone and nothing said.

I shut the door to face the naked truth, I stood alone--I faced the truth alone, Stripped bare of self-regard or forms or ruth Till first and last were shown.

I took the perfect balances and weighed; No shaking of my hand disturbed the poise; 10 Weighed, found it wanting: not a word I said, But silent made my choice.

None know the choice I made; I make it still. None know the choice I made and broke my heart, Breaking mine idol: I have braced my will Once, chosen for once my part.

I broke it at a blow, I laid it cold, Crushed in my deep heart where it used to live. My heart dies inch by inch; the time grows old, Grows old in which I grieve. 20

II

I have a room whereinto no one enters Save I myself alone: There sits a blessed memory on a throne, There my life centres.

While winter comes and goes--oh tedious comer!-- And while its nip-wind blows; While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose Of lavish summer.

If any should force entrance he might see there One buried yet not dead, 30 Before whose face I no more bow my head Or bend my knee there;

But often in my worn life’s autumn weather I watch there with clear eyes, And think how it will be in Paradise When we’re together.