The Ghost
I set a candle at my pane,
Yellowy in the drip of rain;
My love came in and looked at me;
I hid my face upon my knee.
The drip of rain was everywhere;
Blown to a rag in the quick air,
The candle flame was never still;
My love stood there upon the sill.
Though I had loved him many a day,
And wept when he had gone away,
There in that hour no word I said:
I was afraid! for he was dead.
