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Lady Clarisse.
So ghostly that the shadows fail to mock it as they glide,So back to the rents in the gable they flit away to hide,Rather than fling a shadow on the footsteps of a bride.
But why wanders lady Clarisse in the dark and shrouded night?Why rests she not in slumber 'neath her curtain's rosy light?Why flitteth she like Banshee round the battlements to-night?
Lady Clarisse! Lady Clarisse! by the ring upon thy hand,By the garland of white jessamine up-braided in the bandThat encircles thy fair forehead,—O, wherefore dost thou stand
Gazing into lurid darkness, like a restless spirit sentTo chase the vagrant echoes as they answer from the rentWhere the spider only, loves to pitch her secret tent?
