I See The Ghost Of A Perished Day; I Know His Face, And The Feel Of His Dawn: 'Twas He Who Took Me Far Away To A Spot Strange And Gray: Look At Me, Day, And Then Pass On, But Come Again: Yes, Come Anon! Enters Another Into View; His Features Are Not Cold Or White, But Rosy As A Vein Seen Through: Too Soon He Smiles Adieu. Adieu, O Ghost-Day Of Delight; But Come And Grace My Dying Sight. Enters The Day That Brought The Kiss: He Brought It In His Foggy Hand To Where The Mumbling River Is, And The High Clematis; It Lent New Colour To The Land, And All The Boy Within Me Manned. Ah, This One. Yes, I Know His Name, He Is The Day That Wrought A Shine Even On A Precinct Common And Tame, As 'Twere Of Purposed Aim. He Shows Him As A Rainbow Sign Of Promise Made To Me And Mine. The Next Stands Forth In His Morning Clothes, And Yet, Despite Their Misty Blue, They Mark No Sombre Custom-Growths That Joyous Living Loathes, But A Meteor Act, That Left In Its Queue A Train Of Sparks My Lifetime Through. I Almost Tremble At His Nod - This Next In Train Who Looks At Me As I Were Slave, And He Were God Wielding An Iron Rod. I Close My Eyes; Yet Still Is He In Front There, Looking Mastery. In The Similitude Of A Nurse The Phantom Of The Next One Comes: I Did Not Know What Better Or Worse Chancings Might Bless Or Curse When His Original Glossed The Thrums Of Ivy, Bringing That Which Numbs. Yes; Trees Were Turning In Their Sleep Upon Their Windy Pillows Of Gray When He Stole In. Silent His Creep On The Grassed Eastern Steep . . . I Shall Not Soon Forget That Day, And What His Third Hour Took Away!