"YOU KNOW THE OLD, WHILE I KNOW THE NEW"

The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes; rosemary and may Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. He leaned above me, thinking that I slept And could not hear him; but I heard him say, "Poor child, poor child": and as he turned away Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold That hid my face, or take my hand in his, Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: He did not love me living; but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm though I am cold.

Step lightly across the floor, And somewhat more tender be. There were many that passed my door, Many that sought after me. I gave them the passing word— Ah, why did I give thee more? I gave thee what could not be heard, What had not been given before; The beat of my heart I gave.... And I give thee this flower on my grave. My face in the flower thou mayst see. Step lightly across the floor.

When I was dead, my spirit turned To seek the much-frequented house. I passed the door, and saw my friends Feasting beneath green orange-boughs; From hand to hand they pushed the wine, They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; They sang, they jested, and they laughed, For each was loved of each. I listened to their honest chat. Said one, "To-morrow we shall be Plod-plod along the featureless sands, And coasting miles and miles of sea." Said one, "Before the turn of tide We will achieve the eyrie-seat." Said one, "To-morrow shall be like To-day, but much more sweet." "To-morrow," said they, strong with hope, And dwelt upon the pleasant way: "To-morrow," cried they one and all, While no one spoke of yesterday. Their life stood full at blessed noon; I, only I had passed away: "To-morrow and to-day," they cried; I was of yesterday. I shivered comfortless, but cast No chill across the tablecloth; I, all-forgotten, shivered, sad To stay and yet to part how loth: I passed from the familiar room, I whom from love had passed away, Like the remembrance of a guest That tarrieth but a day.

I pushed the tangled grass away And lifted up the stone, And flitted down the churchyard path With grasses overgrown. I halted at my mother's door And shook the rusty catch— "The wind is rising fast," she said, "It rattles at the latch." I crossed the street and paused again Before my husband's house, My baby sat upon his knee As quiet as a mouse. I pulled the muslin curtain by, He rose the blinds to draw— "I feel a draught upon my back, The night is cold and raw." I met a man who loved me well In days ere I was wed, He did not hear, he did not see, So silently I fled. But when I found my poor old dog, Though blind and deaf was he, And feeble with his many years, He turned and followed me.

I think if I should cross the room, Far as fear, Should stand beside you like a thought— Touch you, dear, Like a fancy—to your sad heart It would seem That my vision passed and prayed you, Or my dream. Then you would look with lonely eyes— Lift your head— And you would stir and sigh, and say, "She is dead." Baffled by death and love, I lean Through the gloom. O Lord of life! Am I forbid To cross the room?

A ghost is a freak of a sick man's brain? Then why do you start and shiver so? That's the sob and drip of a leaky drain? But it sounds like another noise we know! The heavy drops drummed red and slow, The drops ran down as slow as fate— Do ye hear them still?—it was long ago!— But here in the shadows I wait, and wait! Spirits there be that pass in peace; Mine passed in a whirl of wrath and dole; And the hour that your choking breath shall cease I will get my grip on your naked soul— Nor pity may stay nor prayer cajole— I would drag ye whining from Hell's own gate: To me, to me, ye must pay the toll! And here in the shadows I wait, I wait! The dead they are dead, they are out of the way? And the ghost is a whim of an ailing mind? Then why did ye whiten with fear to-day When ye heard a voice in the calling wind? Why did ye falter and look behind? At the creeping mists when the hour grew late? Ye would see my face were ye stricken blind! And here in the shadows I wait, I wait! Drink and forget, make merry and boast, But the boast rings false and the jest is thin— In the hour that I meet you ghost to ghost, Stripped of the flesh that you skulk within, Stripped to the coward soul 'ware of its sin, Ye shall learn, ye shall learn, whether dead men hate! Ah, a weary time has the waiting been, But here in the shadows I wait, I wait!