The Ghost

I set a candle at my pane,

Yellowy in the drip of rain;

My love came in and looked at me;

I hid my face upon my knee.

The drip of rain was everywhere;

Blown to a rag in the quick air,

The candle flame was never still;

My love stood there upon the sill.

Though I had loved him many a day,

And wept when he had gone away,

There in that hour no word I said:

I was afraid! for he was dead.