"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
I know what my heart is like Since your love died:
It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.
