The Wraith

mw-parser-output" lang="en" dir="ltr">The Boogah ManThe Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbarby Paul Laurence DunbarThe WraithSilence→

THE WRAITH

Ah me, it is cold and chill

And the fire sobs low in the grate,

While the wind rides by on the hill,

And the logs crack sharp with hate.

And she, she is cold and sad

As ever the sinful are,

But deep in my heart I am glad

For my wound and the coming scar.

Oh, ever the wind rides by

And ever the raindrops grieve;

But a voice like a woman's sigh

Says, "Do you believe, believe?"

Ah, you were warm and sweet,

Sweet as the May days be;

Down did I fall at your feet,

Why did you hearken to me?

Oh, the logs they crack and whine,

And the water drops from the eaves;

But it is not rain but brine

Where my dead darling grieves.

And a wraith sits by my side,

A spectre grim and dark;

Are you gazing here open-eyed

Out to the lifeless dark?

But ever the wind rides on,

And we sit close within;

Out of the face of the dawn,

I and my darling,—sin.