The Phantom Horsewoman

I

Queer are the ways of a man I know:

He comes and stands

In a careworn craze,

And looks at the sands

And the seaward haze

With moveless hands

And face and gaze,

Then turns to go...

And what does he see when he gazes so?

II

They say he sees as an instant thing

More clear than to-day,

A sweet soft scene

That once was in play

By that briny green;

Yes, notes alway

Warm, real, and keen,

What his back years bring—

A phantom of his own figuring.