Dead Man's Morrice
There
came
a
crowder
to
the
Mermaid
Inn,
One
dark
May
night,
Fiddling
a
tune
that
quelled
our
motley
din,
With
quaint
delight,
It
haunts
me
yet,
as
old
lost
airs
will
do,
A
phantom
strain:
_Look
for
me
once,
lest
I
should
look
for
you,
And
look
in
vain._
In
that
old
wood,
where
ghosts
of
lovers
walk,
At
fall
of
day,
Gleaning
such
fragments
of
their
ancient
talk
As
poor
ghosts
may,
From
leaves
that
brushed
their
faces,
wet
with
dew,
Or
tears,
or
rain,...
_Look
for
me
once,
lest
I
should
look
for
you,
And
look
in
vain._
Have
we
not
seen
them--pale
forgotten
shades
That
do
return,
Groping
for
those
dim
paths,
those
fragrant
glades,
Those
nooks
of
fern,
Only
to
find
that,
of
the
may
they
knew,
No
wraiths
remain;
_Yet
they
still
look,
as
I
should
look
for
you,
And
look
in
vain._
They
see
those
happier
ghosts
that
waned
away--
Whither,
who
knows?--
Ghosts
that
come
back
with
music
and
the
may,
And
Spring's
first
rose,
Lover
and
lass,
to
sing
the
old
burden
through,
Stave
and
refrain:
_Look
for
me
once,
lest
I
should
look
for
you,
And
look
in
vain._
So,
after
death,
if
in
that
starless
deep,
I
lose
your
eyes,
I'll
haunt
familiar
places.
I'll
not
keep
Tryst
in
the
skies.
I'll
haunt
the
whispering
elms
that
found
us
true,
The
old
grass-grown
lane.
_Look
for
me
there,
lest
I
should
look
for
you,
And
look
in
vain._
There,
as
of
old,
under
the
dreaming
moon,
A
phantom
throng
Floats
through
the
fern,
to
a
ghostly
morrice
tune,
A
thin
sweet
song,
Hands
link
with
hands,
eyes
drown
in
eyes
anew,
Lips
meet
again....
_Look
for
me,
once,
lest
I
should
look
for
you,
And
look
in
vain._
