A Misty Morning

By Nora May French

Low-arched above me as I moved the
            hollowed air was clear;
Beyond was whiteness dim and strange, and
            spectral shapes drew near.

Upon the little shore of brown that touched
            the misty sea,
Upon the shadowy borderland, one paused and
            looked at me;

The hurried on with greeting smile and sudden
            vivid face:
A friend had started into life within my magic

Into the world of ghosts again I watched him
            fade away—
First black he was, then dim he was, then
            merged in formless grey.