The Little Ghost

I knew her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked,—
The wall is high—higher than most—
And the green gate was locked;

And yet I did not think of that
Till after she was gone;
I knew her by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on,

By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands, that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown’s white folds among.

I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do,—and, oh,
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!

She bent above my favorite mint
With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled,—there was no hint
Of sadness in her face;

She held her gown on either side,
To let her slippers show,
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go;

And where the wall is built in new,
And is of ivy bare,
She paused,—then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.

Edna St. Vincent Millay