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Dinah Maria Mulock - A Ghost At The Dancing
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A WIND-SWEPT tulip-bed--a colored cloud 
Of butterflies careering in the air-- 
A many-figured arras stirred to life, 
And merry unto midnight music dumb-- 
So the dance whirls. Do any think of thee, 
Amiel, Amiel? 
Friends greet each other--countless rills of talk 
Meander round, scattering a spray of smiles. 
Surely--the news was false. One minute more 
And thou wilt stand here, tall and quiet-eyed, 
Shakespearian beauty in they pensive face, 
Amiel, Amiel. 

Many here knew and loved thee--I nor loved, 
Scarce knew--yet in thy place a shadow glides, 
And a face shapes itself from empty air, 
Watching the dancers, grave and quiet-eyed-- 
Eyes that now see the angels evermore, 
Amiel, Amiel. 

On just such night as this, `midst dance and song, 
I bade thee carelessly a light good by-- 
"Good by"--saidst thou; "A happy journey home!" 
Was the unseen death-angel at thy side, 
Mocking those words--("A happy journey home," 
Amiel, Amiel? 

Ay, we play fool`s play still; thou hast gone home. 
While these dance here, a mile hence o`er thy grave 
Drifts the deep New Year snow. The wondrous gate 
We spoke of, thou hast entered; I without 
Grope ignorant still--thou dost its secrets know, 
Amiel, Amiel. 

What if, thus sitting where we sat last year, 
Thou camest, took`st up our broken thread of talk, 
And told`st of that new Home, which far I view, 
As children, wandering on through wintry fields, 
Mark on the hill the father`s window shine, 
Amiel, Amiel? 

No. We shall see thy pleasant face no more; 
Thy words on earth are ended. Yet thou livest; 
`T is we who die.--I too, one day shall come, 
And, unseen, watch these shadows, quiet-eyed-- 
Then flit back to thy land, the living land, 
Amiel, Amiel.
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