NOW that the curtains are drawn close <br />Now that the fire burns low, <br />And on her narrow bed the rose <br />Is stark laid out in snow; <br />Now that the wind of winter blows <br />Bid my heart say if still it knows <br />The step it used to know. <br /> <br /> <br />I hear the silken gown you wear <br />Sweep on the gallery floor, <br />Your step comes up the wide, dark stair <br />And pauses at my door. <br />My heart with the old hope flowers fair-- <br />That shrivels to the old despair, <br />For you come in no more!<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ghost-31/
