WRAITH
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Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,That you haunt my door?"--Surely it is not I she's wanting;Someone living here before--"Nobody's in the house but me:You may come in if you like and see." Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,--Have you seen her, any of you?--Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,And the garden showing through? Glimmering eyes,--and silent, mostly,Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,Asking something, asking it over,If you get a sound from her.-- Ever see her, any of you?--Strangest thing I've ever known,--Every night since I moved in,And I came to be alone. "Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!You may not come in!This is I that you hear rocking;Nobody's with me, nor has been!" Curious, how she tried the window,--Odd, the way she tries the door,--Wonder just what sort of peopleCould have had this house before . . .
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