Ghost-gray it stands—
The house not built with hands,
The pathway of our hope,
The cottonwood, the swing.

Unreal its sloping ground,
Its shadowy gardents, bound—
Foxglove and heliotrope—
By my remembering.

It wavers and is thinned
Like mist before the wind;
It flees oblivion
Like mist before the sun.

Ghost-gray and thin
The walls, and there within,
Lapped in the old sunshine,
They move and smile—
The shadowy girl and boy
Our pride could not destory,
Who ruled your heart and mine
A little while.