The Haunted Day

Silver frost at daybreak shines on my window sill, Silver lines against the sky are grey geese awing; Blue smoke of burning leaves lies on the air as still As incense from the censers that acolytes swing.

Berries deck the briar where grew the sweetest rose And from old fence corners comes calling of the quail; Silkweed and thistle-down and dandelion blows Drift along like little fleets—fairy ships asail!—

In the flowerless garden some long belated bees Make the silence deeper with a dim summer sound; Now a beaten pathway runs under painted trees And on to a river bank, where dreams may be found.

The hours are rapt and spellbound,—for when the dark comes down (Hark to the echo of the far cathedral bell!) They say the dead—the dead—pass by through country and town, Dear Christ—if it were true—this ancient tale they tell!