Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/One Out-of-Doors
ONE OUT-OF-DOORS.
A ghost—is he afraid to be a ghost? A ghost? It breaks my heart to think of it.Something that wavers in the moon, at most; Something that wanders; something that must flitFrom morning, from the bird's breath and the dew.Ah, if I knew,—ah, if I only knew!
Something so weirdly wan, so weirdly still! O yearning lips that our warm blood can flush,Follow it with your kisses, if you will; O beating heart, think of its helpless hush.Oh, bitterest of all, to fear we fearSomething that was so near, that was so dear!
No,—no, he is no ghost; he could not be; Something that hides, forlorn, in frost and brier;Something shut outside in the dark, while we Laugh and forget by the familiar fire;Something whose moan we call the wind, whose tearsSound but as rain-drops in our human ears.