(Ghost-Story)
Out of the
storm that muffles shining night
Flash roses
ghastly-sweet,
And lilies
far too pale.
There is a
pang of livid light,
A terror of
familiarity,
I see a
dripping swirl of leaves and petals
That I once
tended happily,
Borders of
flattened, frightened little things,
And
writhing paths I surely walked in that other life—
Day?
My
specter-garden beckons to me,
Gibbers horribly—
And vanishes!
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