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Wraiths

 They know not the green leaves; 
In whose earth-haunting dream 
Dimly the forest heaves, 
And voiceless goes the stream. 
Strangely they seek a place 
In love’s night-memoried hall; 
Peering from face to face, 
Until some heart shall call 
And keep them, for a breath, 
Half-mortal ... (Hark to the rain!)...
They are dead ... (O hear how death 
Gropes on the shutter’d pane!)






Book: Reflection on the Important Things