- DESERTED
NONE know her; none remember her.
Cold lies she. Round the place
The wind-blown shadows as they stir
Fall on no human face.
Leagues distant the moon draws the tide
As the moon has always done.
Whom does she draw to her dead side?
Not one of us — not one!
The grasses sway beside the door;
The wind shrieks thro' the hedge.
No fire-light thrown across the floor
Reddens the window-ledge.
Gone! All, all gone! save those faint ghosts
Her memories, her pain,
And on the roof the fluttering hosts
Of leaves that fall like rain.
And yet the same sky overhead —
The same moon in the sky!
Surely some token of the dead
Who went so wistfully,
Some sign, some token, lingering on
In earth or air or sea,
Must cry upon the hearts of stone
That can let these things be!
