The Black Christ & Other Poems/Ghosts

by Countee Cullen

Ghosts

BREAST under breast when you shall lie With him who in my placeBends over you with flashing eye And ever nearing face;

Hand fast in hand when you shall tread With him the springing waysOf love from me inherited After my little phase;

Be not surprised if suddenly The couch or air confoundYour ravished ears upbraidingly, And silence turn to sound.

But never let it trouble you, Or cost you one caress;Ghosts are soon sent with a word or two Back to their loneliness.