Between the moss and stone The lonely lilies rise; Wasted and overgrown The tangled garden lies.

Weeds climb about the stoop And clutch the crumbling walls; The drowsy gra.s.ses droop-- The night wind falls.

The place is like a wood; No sign is there to tell Where rose and iris stood That once she loved so well.

Where phlox and asters grew, A leafless thornbush stands, And shrubs that never knew Her tender hands....

Over the broken fence The moonbeams trail their shrouds; Their tattered cerements Cling to the gauzy clouds, In ribbons frayed and thin-- And startled by the light Silence shrinks deeper in The depths of night.

Useless lie spades and rakes; Rust's on the garden-tools.

Yet, where the moonlight makes Nebulous silver pools A ghostly shape is cast-- Something unseen has stirred....

Was it a breeze that pa.s.sed?

Was it a bird?

Dead roses lift their heads Out of a gra.s.sy tomb; From ruined pansy-beds A thousand pansies bloom.

The gate is opened wide-- The garden that has been Now blossoms like a bride....

_Who entered in?_

GHOSTS: MADISON CAWEIN

Low, weed-climbed cliffs, o'er which at noon The sea-mists swoon: Wind-twisted pines, through which the crow Goes winging slow: Dim fields the sower never sows, Or reaps or mows: And near the sea a ghostly house of stone Where all is old and lone.

A garden, falling in decay, Where statues gray Peer, broken, out of tangled weed And th.o.r.n.y seed; Satyr and Nymph, that once made love By walk and grove: And, near a fountain, shattered, green with mould, A sundial, lichen-old.

Like some sad life bereft, To musing left, The house stands: love and youth Both gone, in sooth: But still it sits and dreams: And round it seems Some memory of the past, still young and fair, Haunting each crumbling stair.

And suddenly one dimly sees, Come through the trees, A woman, like a wild moss-rose: A man, who goes Softly: and by the dial They kiss a while: Then drowsily the mists blow round them, wan, And they like ghosts are gone.

THE THREE GHOSTS: THEODOSIA GARRISON

The three ghosts on the lonely road, Spake each to one another, "Whence came that stain upon your mouth No lifted hand can cover?"

"From eating of forbidden fruit, Brother, my brother."

The three ghosts on the sunless road, Spake each to one another, "Whence came that red burn on your foot No dust or ash may cover?"

"I stamped a neighbor's hearth-flame out, Brother, my brother."

The three ghosts on the windless road, Spake each to one another, "Whence came that blood upon thy hand No other hand may cover?"

"From breaking of a woman's heart, Brother, my brother."

"Yet on the earth, clean men we walked, Glutton and thief and lover, White flesh and fair, it hid our stains, That no man might discover,"

Naked the soul goes up to G.o.d, Brother, my brother.

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

AFTER DEATH: CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

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.

THE Pa.s.sER-BY: EDITH M. THOMAS

Step lightly across the floor, And somewhat more tender be.

There were many that pa.s.sed my door, Many that sought after me.

I gave them the pa.s.sing 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.

AT HOME: CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

When I was dead, my spirit turned To seek the much-frequented house.

I pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed from the familiar room, I whom from love had pa.s.sed away, Like the remembrance of a guest That tarrieth but a day.

THE RETURN: MINNA IRVING

I pushed the tangled gra.s.s away And lifted up the stone, And flitted down the churchyard path With gra.s.ses 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.

THE ROOM'S WIDTH: ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD

I think if I should cross the room, Far as fear, Should stand beside you like a thought-- Touch you, dear,