The Poetry Corner

Wraith

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

"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 . . .