Page:Dora Sigerson Shorter - New Poems.djvu/36

 A maid distraught indeed was she Her anguish all confessed— In the sharp sighing that flew forth From out her heaving breast.

When she had gone an echo flew Across the haunted bower; "Too late! Too late!" the whisper came From ev'ry sleeping flower.

I met a youth upon the path And bade him tell to me If he had seen the little maid Who wept so dolefully.

Upon his cheek the ruddy rose Swift faded into white, "God pity you, for you have seen The wailing ghost this night.

"Pray, pray," he cried, "and shrive your soul, And so avert your fate," And as he flew me swift in fear A whisper cried "Too late!"