She sped through the door

And, following in haste,

And stirred to the core,

I entered hot-faced;

But I could not find her,

No sign was behind her.

“Where is she?” I said:

—“Who?” they asked that sat there;

“Not a soul’s come in sight.”

—“A maid with red hair.”

—“Ah.”  They paled.  “She is dead.

People see her at night,

But you are the first

On whom she has burst

In the keen common light.”

It was ages ago,

When I was quite strong:

I have waited since,—O,

I have waited so long!

—Yea, I set me to own

The house, where now lone

I dwell in void rooms

Booming hollow as tombs!

But I never come near her,

Though nightly I hear her.

And my cheek has grown thin

And my hair has grown gray

With this waiting therein;

But she still keeps away!