The Ghost

'BEES of old Spanish wine Pipe at this Inn to-night, Music and candleshine Fill the dim chambers . . . . 'Fans toss and ladies pace, Flutes of cold metal blow, Maidens like winds of lace Tease the dark passages . . . . 'Run, you fat kitchen-boys, Pasties in pyramids Rise while your masters poise Flagons with silver lids . . . . 'Ha! Let the platters fume, Jars wink and bottles drip, Staining with smoke and spume Lips, tables, tapestries . . . . 'Wenches with tousled silk, Mouths warm and bubble eyes, Tumble those beds of milk Under carved canopies . . . . 'Now let your lovers dive Deep to that hurricane . . . . O, to be there alive, Breathing again!' So the ghost cried, and pressed to the dark pane, Like a white leaf, his face . . . in vain . . . in vain..