In An Annisquam Garden

Old phantoms haunt it of the long ago; Old ghosts of old-time lovers and of dreams: Within the quiet sunlight there, meseems, I see them walking where those lilies blow. The hardy phlox sways to some garment's flow; The salvia there with sudden scarlet streams, Caught from some ribbon of some throat that gleams, Petunia-fair, in flounce and furbelow. I seem to hear their whispers in each wind That wanders mid the flowers. There they stand! Among the shadows of that apple-tree! They are not dead, whom still it keeps in mind, This garden, planted by some lovely hand That keeps it fragrant with its memory.