“Secrets,” sighs the night-wind,
“Vacancy is all I find;
Every keyhole I have made
Wails a summons, faint and sad,
No voice ever answers me,
      Only vacancy.” 
“Once, once ...” the cricket shrills,
And far and near the quiet fills
With its tiny voice, and then
      Hush falls again.

Mute shadows creeping slow
Mark how the hours go. 
Every stone is mouldering slow. 
And the least winds that blow
Some minutest atom shake,
Some fretting ruin make
In roof and walls.  How black it is
Beneath these thick-boughed trees!

MISTRESS FELL

“Whom seek you here, sweet Mistress Fell?”
“One who loved me passing well. 
Dark his eye, wild his face—­
Stranger, if in this lonely place
Bide such an one, then, prythee, say
I am come here to-day.”

“Many his like, Mistress Fell?”
“I did not look, so cannot tell. 
Only this I surely know,
When his voice called me, I must go;
Touched me his fingers, and my heart
Leapt at the sweet pain’s smart.”

“Why did he leave you, Mistress Fell?”
“Magic laid its dreary spell.—­
Stranger, he was fast asleep;
Into his dream I tried to creep;
Called his name, soft was my cry;
He answered—­not one sigh.

“The flower and the thorn are here;
Falleth the night-dew, cold and clear;
Out of her bower the bird replies,
Mocking the dark with ecstasies,
See how the earth’s green grass doth grow,
Praising what sleeps below!

“Thus have they told me.  And I come,
As flies the wounded wild-bird home. 
Not tears I give; but all that he
Clasped in his arms, sweet charity;
All that he loved—­to him I bring
For a close whispering.”

THE GHOST

“Who knocks?” “I, who was beautiful,
  Beyond all dreams to restore,
I, from the roots of the dark thorn am hither. 
  And knock on the door.”

“Who speaks?” “I—­once was my speech
  Sweet as the bird’s on the air,
When echo lurks by the waters to heed;
  ’Tis I speak thee fair.”

“Dark is the hour!” “Ay, and cold.” 
  “Lone is my house.”  “Ah, but mine?”
“Sight, touch, lips, eyes yearned in vain.” 
  “Long dead these to thine ...”

Silence.  Still faint on the porch
  Brake the flames of the stars. 
In gloom groped a hope-wearied hand
  Over keys, bolts, and bars.

A face peered.  All the grey night
  In chaos of vacancy shone;
Nought but vast sorrow was there—­
  The sweet cheat gone.

THE STRANGER

In the woods as I did walk,
  Dappled with the moon’s beam,
I did with a Stranger talk,
  And his name was Dream.

Spurred his heel, dark his cloak,
  Shady-wide his bonnet’s brim;
His horse beneath a silvery oak
  Grazed as I talked with him.