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A BALLAD OF THE WAILING GHOST
A maid distraught indeed was she
Her anguish all confessed—
In the sharp sighing that flew forth
From out her heaving breast.
When she had gone an echo flew
Across the haunted bower;
"Too late! Too late!" the whisper came
From ev'ry sleeping flower.
I met a youth upon the path
And bade him tell to me
If he had seen the little maid
Who wept so dolefully.
Upon his cheek the ruddy rose
Swift faded into white,
"God pity you, for you have seen
The wailing ghost this night.
"Pray, pray," he cried, "and shrive your soul,
And so avert your fate,"
And as he flew me swift in fear
A whisper cried "Too late!"
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