(Ghost-Story)

Out of the storm that muffles shining night

Flash roses ghastly-sweet,

And lilies far too pale.

There is a pang of livid light,

A terror of familiarity,

I see a dripping swirl of leaves and petals

That I once tended happily,

Borders of flattened, frightened little things,

And writhing paths I surely walked in that other life—

Day?

My specter-garden beckons to me,

Gibbers horribly—

And vanishes!