John Vance Cheney

The Pilgrims

"WHITHER, pilgrims, whither bound,
Passing slowly with no sound?"
One by one they journey by,
Gliding, gliding silently;
Slowly, slowly, dim and gray,
Hold they on their ghostly way.
 
"Hither, children, making May
Of the solemn autumn day,
Who were they but now went by
While the dead weeds gave a sigh?
Who the pilgrims, dim and gray,
Stopped and looked upon your play?"
 
"We have wandered many hours
Here where some one hides the flowers;
We heard laughter in the grass,
But we saw no pilgrim pass."
Whispers one, — pale-cheeked is she,—
"Shapes went by; they beckoned me."