I

I shall not soon forget her and her eyes, The haunts of hate, where suffering seemed to write Its stealthy name, whose syllables are sighs, In strange and starless night.

I shall not soon forget her and her face, So quiet, yet uneasy as a dream That stands on tip-toe in a haunted place And listens for a scream.

She made me feel as one, alone, may feel In some grand, ghostly mansion of old time, The presence of a treasure, walls conceal, And secret of a crime.