I, TOO , have heard strange whispers, seen
A stealthy mist rise from the Summer's green,
And felt, even in the loud and candid noon,
A central silence and chill secrecy
Laid close against the human heat of me;
But never under sun nor moon,
Nor through the choked, ambiguous utterance of the rain,
Has any presence made his meaning plain …
Perhaps these ghosts are helpless ghosts and weak,
Or when they see us, grow too sad to speak.