Sounds of the river fade with a distant bell That signifies the tide is on the turn. Each night, grey wraiths creep over the high bank's brim; Pervade dark streets to manifest and dwell. Till, gliding down the landing stage's steps: A slender figure, draped in cape and hood Stops-- As though confused by a burnt out lot, Where once the harbour master's house had stood. It turns to me, reveals a sad white face. And with a half gold-heart hung on a chain.. Points at my neck; to indicate the place Where long ago, it's matching half was seen. Then, having made no living sound, Dissolves before my eyes into the ground.
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