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Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay
Second April

WRAITH

"Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,
  That you haunt my door?"
--Surely it is not I she's wanting;
  Someone living here before--
"Nobody's in the house but me:
You may come in if you like and see."

Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,--
  Have you seen her, any of you?--
Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,
  And the garden showing through?

Glimmering eyes,--and silent, mostly,
  Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,
Asking something, asking it over,
  If you get a sound from her.--

Ever see her, any of you?--
  Strangest thing I've ever known,--
Every night since I moved in,
  And I came to be alone.

"Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!
  You may not come in!
This is I that you hear rocking;
  Nobody's with me, nor has been!"

Curious, how she tried the window,--
  Odd, the way she tries the door,--
Wonder just what sort of people
  Could have had this house before . . .