I
knew her for a little ghost that
in my garden walked;
The
wall is high—higher than most—and
the green gate was locked.
And
yet I did not think of that 'til
after she was gone --
I
knew her by the broad white hat, all
ruffled, she had on.
By
the dear ruffles round her feet, by
her small hands that hung
In
their lace mitts, austere and sweet, her
gown's white folds among.
I
watched to see if she would stay, what
she would do -- and oh!
She
looked as if she liked the way I
let my garden grow!
She
bent above my favourite mint with
conscious garden grace,
She
smiled and smiled—there was no hint of
sadness in her face.
She
held her gown on either side to
let her slippers show,
And
up the walk she went with pride, the
way great ladies go,
And
where the wall is built in new and
is of ivy bare she
paused—
then opened and passed through a gate that once was there.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay
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