Presentiment

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Presentiment

With saintly grace and reverent tread,

She walked among the graves with me;

Her every foot-fall seemed to be

A benediction on the dead.

The guardian spirit of the place

She seemed, and I some ghost forlorn

Surprised in the untimely morn

She made with her resplendent face.

Moved by some waywardness of will,

Three paces from the path apart

She stepped and stood⁠—my prescient heart

Was stricken with a passing chill.

The folk-lore of the years agone

Remembering, I smiled and thought:

“Who shudders suddenly at naught,

His grave is being trod upon.”

But now I know that it was more

Than idle fancy. O, my sweet,

I did not think such little feet

Could make a buried heart so sore!