102
THE GHOST
By the way of the station garden,
Hayricks tented against the shed,
One cypress pine like a stately warden
Of moonlit waters and dreamings dead
Hayricks tented against the shed,
One cypress pine like a stately warden
Of moonlit waters and dreamings dead
Rises to climb where the dark firs straggle;
Moonlight ripples beneath a bridge,
Sandy slopes where the grasses haggle
With pumpkin vines for the sheltered ridge.
Moonlight ripples beneath a bridge,
Sandy slopes where the grasses haggle
With pumpkin vines for the sheltered ridge.
The shepherd's hut with the dun bark sagging,
The crooked chimney, the broken bail
Made wind-proof with a scrap of bagging
Kept in place by a rusty nail.
The crooked chimney, the broken bail
Made wind-proof with a scrap of bagging
Kept in place by a rusty nail.
Till we came to the plain that has no ending
(So it seems when the moon is high),
To where the Dalby myalls bending
Write their twilight along the sky.
(So it seems when the moon is high),
To where the Dalby myalls bending
Write their twilight along the sky.
Ghosts of moons, all a ghost-world flooding,
Sifted down from a sieve of blue:
Wattle grey in its pallid budding,
Ghosts of perfumes trickling through.
Sifted down from a sieve of blue:
Wattle grey in its pallid budding,
Ghosts of perfumes trickling through.
If I were a ghost I would seek you out,
Take the trail that we loved the most—
The world and its carping tongues to flout,
For who could gossip about a ghost?
Take the trail that we loved the most—
The world and its carping tongues to flout,
For who could gossip about a ghost?
