Lesson:

1. Yes, Katie, I think you are very sweet,


Now that the tangles are out of your hair,


And you sing as well as the birds you meet,


That are playing, like you, in the blossoms there.


But now you are coming to kiss me, you say:


Well, what is it for? Shall I tie your shoe?


Or loop up your sleeve in a prettier way?


'Do I know about ghosts?' Indeed I do.





2. 'Have I seen one?' Yes; last evening, you know,


We were taking a walk that you had to miss,


(I think you were naughty, and cried to go,


But, surely, you'll stay at home after this!)


And, away in the twilight, lonesomely,


('What is the twilight?' It's—getting late!)


I was thinking of things that were sad to me!—


There, hush! you know nothing about them, Kate.





3. Well, we had to go through the rocky lane,


Close to that bridge where the water roars,


By a still, red house, where the dark and rain


Go in when they will at the open doors.


And the moon, that had just waked up, looked through


The broken old windows, and seemed afraid,


And the wild bats flew, and the thistles grew


Where once in the roses the children played.





4. Just across the road by the cherry trees


Some fallen white stones had been lying so long,


Half hid in the grass, and under these


There were people dead. I could hear the song


Of a very sleepy dove as I passed


The graveyard near, and the cricket that cried;


And I look'd (ah! the Ghost is coming at last!)


And something was walking at my side.





5. It seemed to be wrapped in a great dark shawl


(For the night was a little cold, you know,);


It would not speak. It was black and tall;


And it walked so proudly and very slow.


Then it mocked me everything I could do:


Now it caught at the lightning flies like me;


Now it stopped where the elder blossoms grew;


Now it tore the thorns from a gray bent tree.





6. Still it followed me under the yellow moon,


Looking back to the graveyard now and then,


Where the winds were playing the night a tune—


But, Kate, a Ghost doesn't care for men,


And your papa couldn't have done it harm.


Ah! dark-eyed darling, what is it you see?


There, you needn't hide in your dimpled arm—


It was only my shadow that walk'd with me!





ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Mrs. S. M. B. Piatt, who was born near Lexington, Ky., in 1836.


Among her published works may be mentioned 'The Nests at Washington, and Other Poems,' and 'A Woman's Poems.'