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I KNEW her for a little ghost |
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That in my garden walked; |
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The wall is high—higher than most— |
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And the green gate was locked. |
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And yet I did not think of that |
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Till after she was gone— |
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I knew her by the broad white hat, |
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All ruffled, she had on. |
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By the dear ruffles round her feet, |
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By her small hands that hung |
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In their lace mitts, austere and sweet, |
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Her gown’s white folds among. |
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I watched to see if she would stay, |
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What she would do—and oh! |
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She looked as if she liked the way |
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I let my garden grow! |
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She bent above my favourite mint |
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With conscious garden grace, |
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She smiled and smiled—there was no hint |
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Of sadness in her face. |
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She held her gown on either side |
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To let her slippers show, |
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And up the walk she went with pride, |
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The way great ladies go. |
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And where the wall is built in new |
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And is of ivy bare |
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She paused—then opened and passed through |
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A gate that once was there. |
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