Mary Eleanor Roberts

WHAT dost thou, so ghostly white

In the halls of day?—

Facing the triumphant light,

Reveler astray?

When thy silver court was kept,

Thou and thine were free,

And the sun, while dotards slept,

Did not spy on thee.

Scent of jasmine, voices low,

Dost thou seek them yet—

Lovers of the long ago

Thou canst not forget?

Day’s gay banners all unfurled

Flaunt from sea to sea:

All the work of all the world

Calls the sun and me.

Nay, thou shalt not bid me stand!

Nay, I will not yield!

Strong to-day in my right hand

Is the brand I wield.

Then aroint thee, shadow fly!

Wherefore haunt me so—

Hanging mournful in the sky,

Pale and loath to go?