Watching

So ghostly then the girl came in

I never saw the turnstile twist,

Down where the orchard trees begin

Lost in a revery of mist.

And in that windless hour between

The last of sunset and the night,

When fields give up their ebbing green

And two bats interweave their flight,

I saw the turnstile glimmer pale

Just where the orchard trees begin.

But watching was of no avail,

Invisibly the girl came in.

I took one deep breath of the air

And lifted up my heavy heart;

It was not I who trembled there,

But my immortal counterpart.

I knew that she had come again

Up from the orchard through the stile,

Without a sign to tell me when,

Though I was watching all the while.