The Phantom Horsewoman

Queer are the ways of a man I know:

He comes and

In a careworn craze,

And looks at the

In the seaward

With moveless

And face and gaze,

Then turns to go…And what does he see when he gazes so?

They say he sees as an instant

More clear than today,

A sweet soft

That once was in

By that briny green;

Yes, notes

Warm, real, and keen,

What his back years bring-A phantom of his own figuring.

Of this vision of his they might say more:

Not only

Does he see this sight,

But

In his brain-day, night,

As if on the

It were drawn rose bright-Yea, far from that

Does he carry this vision of heretofore:

A ghost-girl-rider.

And though, toil-tried,

He withers daily,

Time touches her not,

But she still rides

In his rapt

On that shagged and

Atlantic spot,

And as when first

Draws rein and sings to the swing of the tide.