Revisited.

It was beneath a waning moon when all the woods were sear, And winds made eddies of the leaves that whispered far and near, I met her on the old mill-bridge we parted at last year. At first I deemed it but a mist that faltered in that place, An autumn mist beneath the trees that sentineled the race; Until I neared and in the moon beheld her face to face. The waver of the summer-heat upon the drouth-dry leas; The shimmer of the thistle-drift a down the silences; The gliding of the fairy-fire between the swamp and trees; They qualified her presence as a sorrow may a dream The vague suggestion of a self; the glimmer of a gleam; The actual unreal of the things that only seem. Where once she came with welcome and glad eyes all loving-wise, She passed and gave no greeting that my heart might recognize, With far-set face unseeing and sad unremembering eyes. It was beneath a waning moon when woods were bleak and sear, And winds made whispers of the leaves that eddied far and near, I met her ghost upon the bridge we parted at last year.