The ghost was she who crossed the Dewpond fain,
Tho’ my New love didst not hear, nor question,
Across the Channel, through mist and rain;
This remembrance spears in recollection—
For it was I who found the gentle Grave—
The fresh dug earth in two hearts lie as one;
I watch’d the last drop of red Passion leave
Like tears the Night doth smear a face alone;
The Smoke is a sad place love doth wander,
For when it rains all Grey buildings weep;
Morose cornices like death drip yonder
To embrace a ghost Mem’ry treks ‘cross th’sea.
I glance a view athwart my chamber-bed,
And t’see her ghost, know I, to Love am dead.