THE GHOST
OFTLY as brown-eyed Angels rove - I will return to thy alcove,
- And glide upon the night to thee,
- Treading the shadows silently.
- And I will give to thee, my own,
- Kisses as icy as the moon,
- And the caresses of a snake
- Cold gliding in the thorny brake.
- And when returns the livid morn
- Thou shalt find all my place forlorn
- And chilly, till the falling night.
- Others would rule by tenderness
- Over thy life and youthfulness,
- But I would conquer thee by fright!
