Ghosts
Who tapped upon my window pane
And sighed and laughed and sighed again,
Till I called aloud so the stillness heard
A sweet, a long-unspoken word?
Was it only wind and rain?
Yesterday, with whisper slight,
Footfalls followed me, quick and light,
Fluttering, restless close behind:
Who went where my garden pathways wind?
Dry leaves of crimson bright?
Who wails my name with sobbing cry
So that I wake and weeping lie?
A string of the violoncello broke,
In its dusty case—but yet—who spoke?
Who sighs? Who passes by?