by Emily Dickenson
The only Ghost I ever saw Was dressed in Mechlin - so - He had no sandal on his foot - And stepped like flakes of snow - His Mien, was soundless, like the Bird - But rapid - like the Roe - His fashions, quaint, Mosaic - Or haply, Mistletoe - His conversation - seldom - His laughter, like the Breeze That dies away in Dimples Among the pensive Trees - Our interview - was transient - Of me, himself was shy - And God forbid I look behind - Since that appalling Day!