door? The ghosts and I we mourn together, and shrink In the shadow of the cart-shed. Must we hover on the brink Forever, and never enter the homestead any more? Is it irrevocable? Can I really not go Through the open yard-way? Can I not go past the sheds And through to the mowie?—Only the dead in their beds Can know the fearful anguish that this is so. I kiss the stones, I kiss the moss on the wall, And wish I could pass impregnate into the place. I wish I could take it all in a last embrace. I wish with my breast I here could annihilate it all.
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