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HAUNTED GROUND.
59
Such wealth was his in store
Of loving words—when fain lie would be stern
And chide our rovings, all his speech the more
To tenderness would turn!

As twilight brings a face
Drawn faint, yet perfect, on the darkening wail;
So on me rise the spirits of each place,
Yet bring not gloom withal.

Heaven's wasted wealth, the gold
It gave for treasure slighted and ungraced,
Earth's kindly seeds of love on soil too cold
Let darkly run to waste,

That needed but our care
To bloom for ever round the heart serene;
These, these the forms of evil things that were,
Of good that might have been.

Time gathers silently,
Yet from their ashes troubling phantoms sends
More stern than these of happy hours gone by,
Than these of buried friends;

More sad than these that smile
And whisper, "Now thou comest as a guest
Where once thou dwelt—yet mourn not thou the while,
Because thou hast been blest?"