I SLEPT last night and dreamed,
I woke and cried,
For in my sleep it seemed,
Close by my side,
Walked still and slow the old days that have died.

All ghostly slow they passed,
All ghostly still;
Of old who fled so fast,
With life a-thrill,
With laughing lips and eyes, with eager will.

So ghostlike, yet the same,
Each dear dead day,
Softly I called her name
And bade her stay;
Softly she turned and smiled and went her way.