Author Richard Henry Dana They gaze upon his ghastly face. “What ails thee, Lee? and why that glare?” “Look! ha! 't is gone, and not a trace! No, no, she was not there!—Who of you said ye heard her when she fell?'T was strange!—I 'll not be fooled!—Will no one tell?” Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments