The Little Ghost

I KNEW her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high -- higher than most --
And the green gate was locked.

And yet I did not think of that
Till after she was gone --
I knew her by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on.

By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown's white folds among.

I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do -- and oh!
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!

She bent above my favourite mint
With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled -- there was no hint
Of sadness in her face.

She held her gown on either side
To let her slippers show,
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go.

And where the wall is built in new
And is of ivy bare
She paused -- then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.

poem-Edna St.Vincent Millay....drawing Warwick Goble.


Anna said...

very nice indeed!!!
globe is the best!
fijn weekend!

Castles Crowns and Cottages said...

What a lovely poem my dearest! How I love the path you have taken us on what is typically the darkest of traditions; you have enchanted me with fun tales and ethereal images that again, pique my imagination!!! Bisous, Anita

Pamela Terry and Edward said...

Love this. Isn't it a delightfully spooky time of year?!