The Apparition

A day of drought, foreboding rain and wind, As if stern heaven, feeling earth had sinned, Frowned all its hatred. When the evening came, Along the west, from bank on bank unthinned Of clouds, the storm unfurled its oriflamme.

Then lightning signaled, and the thunder woke Its monster drums, and all God’s torrents broke.-- She saw the wild night when the dark pane flashed; Heard, where she stood, the disemboweled oak Roar into fragments when the welkin crashed.

Long had she waited for a word. And, lo! Anticipation still would not say “No:” He has not written; he will come to her; At dawn!--to-night!--Her heart hath told her so; And so expectancy and love aver.

She seems to hear his fingers on the pane-- The glass is blurred, she can not see for rain: Is that his horse?--the wind is never still: And that his cloak?--ah, surely that is plain!-- A torn vine tossing at the window-sill.

She hurries forth to meet him; pale and wet, She sees his face; the war-soiled epaulet; A sabre-scar that bleeds from brow to cheek; And now he smiles, and now their lips have met, And now ... Dear heart, he fell at Cedar Creek!