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Master And Mistress

 As if I were composed of dust and air,
The shape confronting me upon the stair
(Athlete of shadow, lighted by a stain
On its disjunctive breast--I saw it plain--)
Moved through my middle flesh.
I turned around, Shaken and it was marching without sound Beyond the door; and when my hand was taken From my mouth to beat the standing heart, I cried My distant name, thinking myself had died.
One moment I was entered; one moment then I knew a total century of pain Between the twinkling of two thoughts.
The ghost Knocked on my ribs, demanding, "Host! Host! I am diseased with motion.
Give me bread Before I quickly go.
Shall I be fed?" Yielding, I begged of him: "Partake of me.
Whatever runneth from the artery, This body and its unfamiliar wine, Stored in whatever dark of love, are thine.
" But he denied me, saying, "Every part of thee is given, yea, thy flesh, thy heart.

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