When the windowpane fills with light Sepulchral as a ghastly sail Full of dead wind that will not fail Despite the dark, despite the night, And skin and breath half swell with sweat-- Though in itself that has not been My own experience of sin-- Some knot inside the soul relents.... There in the insistent mist A burning mast in a gull-grey shroud Churns water and divides the cloud And rides the tide as I did insist. Be you friend or be you fear, Palely limber in the halflight, Almost fiction in false midnight, Stand pale beside my bed, be near. What you have to say, I would hear Who, rash and rough in life before, Sent from out this very door Your solider emissary. Wait, ghost, do not fade or fail! What you speak I will not unsay But hold in holy memory; I would hear, would feel, your tale.