The Haunted Hour - An Anthology by Various
page 137 of 244 (56%)
page 137 of 244 (56%)
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Bird songs die.
The honeysuckle breaks a flask, And a breeze, on pleasure bent, Catches in her little hands The sharp scent. In the darkness and the dew Come the little, flying flames, Are they the forgotten dead, Without names? Did they love the leaves and wind, Grass and gardens long ago With a love that draws them home Where things grow? For an hour with green leaves, Love immortal leaped to flame, From the earth into the night Old hearts came. What are you, fireflies, That come as daylight dies? THE LITTLE GHOST: EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY I knew her for a little ghost That in my garden walked; |
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