The poem
They know not the green leaves; In whose earth-haunting dream Dimly the forest heaves, And voiceless goes the stream. Strangely they seek a place In love's night-memoried hall; Peering from face to face, Until some heart shall call And keep them, for a breath, Half-mortal ... (Hark to the rain!)... They are dead ... (O hear how death Gropes on the shutter'd pane!)