Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/223



The house is haunted and rife With Her touch behind panel and door And her footfalls under the floor; O the house is filled with gloom: —Is She here dead in my life? Am I here alive in her tomb?—

Ah fain am I still to track And to walk along the ways Sown with flowers by her feet; And to gather, following back, All the purple nights and days She slew passing; or, half sweet,