HAUNTED VILLAGE

by: Sarah N. Cleghorn (1876-1959)

ITTLE wistful shades, when dusk was nearing,

Flitted in the streets of Hemlock Town.

Saw you not, among the leafy shadows,

Breeze-stirred pinafores of beechen brown?

 

By closed shutters of the fanlight doorways

Fond they lingered, faintly listening yet

Only to the click of ancient needles

And the rustle of an old Gazette;

 

Vainly harkening for a sound of frolic

In the silent Square and stately Green;

Vaguely seeking, in our long prim gardens,

Little boys and girls where none were seen;--

 

Till what time the Poles and Finns and Syrians,

Following the mills, came thronging down,

And with patriarchal troops of children

Waked the spellbound streets of Hemlock Town.

 

Many little hob shoes danced and clattered,

Earrings tinkled, and the dusky braid

Nodded to the songs the Caesar's children

Sang, and games that Pharaoh's daughter played.

 

Then the little ghosts, in noiseless scamper

Fleeing up the south wind, homeward hied

To their nursery of low green pillows

On the walled hill's morning-fronting side;

 

Laying down their shadowy heads contented,

Shed upon the drowsing wind their deep,

Low last murmur of fulfilled desire,

Sunk in dreams, and smiling in their sleep.