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Updated: May 25, 2025
Played with the ghost-child all the night, And the mother was free till the morning light, And sped through the dawning night, to stay With Aglovaile till the break of day. And their love was a rapture, lone and high, And dumb as the moon in the topmost sky. One night Sir Aglovaile, weary, slept And dreamed a dream wherein he wept.
They fancied or, at least, affirmed it, between jest and earnest that she was not so solid flesh and blood as other children, but mixed largely with a thinner element. They called her ghost-child, and said that she could indeed vanish when she pleased, but could never, in her densest moments, make herself quite visible.
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