One night John bought from a secondhand shop A golden-trimmed mirror, of old German make Which had a dark hist'ry, the shopkeeper said, One riddled with mystery -- a sleeper awake. But not more than that could the old fellow say, For a curse bound his lips, it made silence his friend; And so John departed, the mirror in hand And from six shillings parted, henceforth would he wend. He passed o'er the river and walked to his flat, Trembling nigh-fainting to look in the glass And with palsied hand he removed the brown paper And gazed on his treasure -- but look! a fair lass! For there in the mirror young John saw a girl, A raven-tressed phantom, both skin and skirt white, With silver orb'd eyes, laced with lashes like wings; Bereft of disguise was this child of the night. She sat on a stool carved of ancient black oak, Clasping her translucent hands to her breast; Clad in a pearl evening gown, she looked down Out through her curls; and then sobs heaved her chest. "Cry not," John entreated, as a blush hugged his face, "Pray tell, what is vexing you, maid of this glass?" She shook her head side to side, ship in a storm, And then with eyes red she related this past: "Nine years have I wandered, nine years gone half-mad, Seeking my lover -- poor soul! tortured man! We sat on the porch, gaily singing a tune By the light of the torch and the breath of my fan. "But then from the shadows emerged a fell nightmare, A death-caressed envoy from Hades below, Claiming my lover a slave in its kingdom, No more dwell above or by sun cast a shadow. "Together they sank through the wood-boarded floor, Out of my sight and sound, out of my hands, Gone like the sunset with dark in its wake. With voice hoarse and eyes wet I left my home lands. "Nine years have I wandered, no sign of my beau, Just seas of red herrings and overgrown trails,