<h2><SPAN name="page120"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>GHOSTS</h2>
<p class="poetry"> There are
ghosts in the room.<br/>
As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there<br/>
They come out of the gloom,<br/>
And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair.</p>
<p class="poetry"> There’s
the ghost of a Hope<br/>
That lighted my days with a fanciful glow.<br/>
In her hand is the rope<br/>
That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago.</p>
<p class="poetry"> But her
ghost comes to-night,<br/>
With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes,<br/>
And it stands in the light,<br/>
And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs.</p>
<p class="poetry"> There’s
the ghost of a Joy,<br/>
A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much,<br/>
And the hands that destroy<br/>
Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch.</p>
<p class="poetry"> <SPAN name="page121"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
121</span>There’s the ghost of a Love,<br/>
Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest,<br/>
But he towers above<br/>
All the others—this ghost: yet a ghost at the best.</p>
<p class="poetry"> I am weary,
and fain<br/>
Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host<br/>
Make my struggle in vain,<br/>
In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost.</p>
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