’Twas I that stood to greet you on the churchyard pave
  (O fire of my heart’s grief, how could you never see?)
You smiled in careless dreaming as you crossed my grave
  And hummed a little love-song where they buried me!

ALL-SOULS’ NIGHT:  DORA SIGERSON

O mother, mother, I swept the hearth, I set his chair
    and the white board spread,
I prayed for his coming to our kind Lady when Death’s
    doors would let out the dead;
A strange wind rattled the window-pane, and down the
    lane a dog howled on,
I called his name and the candle flame burnt dim, pressed
    a hand the door-latch upon. 
Deelish!  Deelish! my woe forever that I could not sever
    coward flesh from fear. 
I called his name and the pale ghost came; but I was
    afraid to meet my dear.

O mother, mother, in tears I checked the sad hours past
    of the year that’s o’er,
Till by God’s grace I might see his face and hear the
    sound of his voice once more;
The chair I set from the cold and wet, he took when he
    came from unknown skies
Of the land of the dead, on my bent brown head I felt
    the reproach of his saddened eyes;
I closed my lids on my heart’s desire, crouched by the fire,
    my voice was dumb. 
At my clean-swept hearth he had no mirth, and at my
    table he broke no crumb. 
Deelish!  Deelish! my woe forever that I could not sever
    coward flesh from fear. 
His chair put aside when the young cock cried, and I
    was afraid to meet my dear.

JANET’S TRYST:  GEORGE MACDONALD

“Sweep up the flure, Janet,
  Put on anither peat. 
It’s a lown and starry nicht, Janet,
  And neither cold nor weet.

And it’s open hoose we keep the nicht
  For ony that may be oot;
It’s the nicht atween the Sancts an’ Souls
  Whan the bodiless gang aboot.

Set the chairs back to the wall, Janet,
  Mak’ ready for quaiet fowk,
Hae a’ thing as clean as a windin’-sheet—­
  They comena ilka ook.

There’s a spale upo’ the flure, Janet,
  And there’s a rowan berry. 
Sweep them into the fire, Janet,—­
  They’ll be welcomer than merry.

Syne set open the door, Janet,—­
  Wide open for wha kens wha: 
As ye come to your bed, Janet,
  Set it open to the wa’.”

She set the chairs back to the wa’,
  But ane made of the birk,
She swept the flure, but left ane spale,
  A long spale o’ the aik.

The nicht was lown, and the stars sat still
  A-glintin’ doon the sky: 
And the sauls crept oot o’ their mooly graves,
  A’ dank wi’ lyin’ by.

When midnight came the mither rase—­
  She wad gae see an’ hear. 
Back she cam’ wi’ a glowrin’ face,
  An’ sloomin’ wi’ verra fear.