The Gas Lamp GhostA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe only gas lamp left in the street Was sitting outside my door, The rest now lay on a rubbish heap Had been cleared some years before, But strangely, all of the mist that once Obscured the street from sight, Now hung and clung to that gas lamp frame And darkened my door at night. I’d stand and stare through my window there Whenever the mist was high, Painting the drains and window panes In the glow of the gas lamp eye, And those that passed in the street at night Would flicker and then be gone, Just like a scene on the silver screen They would pause, then hurry along. And that’s when I saw the girl out there One misty night, about ten, All dressed up for a late night show She’d certainly go, but when? She wore a dress in a style I’d thought More in Victorian taste, A woollen shawl and a bonnet, small, And a bodice of Nottingham lace. She’d disappear in the swirling mist Then reappear in the glow, She’d cling on tight to the gas lamp post, She wasn’t ready to go, Perhaps she waited for someone there I thought, how lucky he’d be, She looked so beautiful, standing where I’d wish she was waiting for me. She seemed to come every friday night But only during a mist, If only she would knock at my door I thought, I couldn’t resist. One friday night it began to rain, And she looked in a great distress Now I could venture to ask her in If only to save her dress. I stepped right up and opened the door, Her image would flicker and fade, I saw her turn, and stare from the glow That the old gas lamp had made, ‘So there you are,’ came her breezy voice, ‘I’ve been waiting here, you see, Every friday at ten o’clock Since 1893.’ That was the moment the lamp blew out In a strong and sudden gust, The glow, the rain and the girl had gone With the mist remaining, just, I stand alone by the window pane And I peer into the mist, To search forever the girl who came That I saw, but never kissed. David Lewis Paget
© 2016 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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