The only Ghost I ever saw

The only Ghost I ever saw

Was dressed in Mechlin—so—

He wore no sandal on his foot—

And stepped like flakes of snow—

His mien, was soundless, like the Bird—

But rapid—like the Roe—

His fashions, quaint, Mosaic—

Or haply, Mistletoe—

His conversation—seldom—

His laughter, like the Breeze—

That dies away in Dimples

Among the pensive Trees—

Our interview—was transient—

Of me, himself was shy—

And God forbid I look behind—

Since that appalling Day!

                                                            F331 (1862)  274

There’s a lot of mystery in this poem’s story. Dickinson recounts her encounter with a ghost who was dressed in lace ruffles but no shoes. His fashion was “Mosaic”—a “quaint” assemblage of styles and fabrics. He might even be wearing mistletoe! Alas, he had little to say and the experience was somehow “appalling.”

Here, Captain Blood wears
Mechlin lace at throat and
as ruffles at his wrists

            The mystery, to me, lies in what about the encounter—other than seeing a very real-seeming ghost—was so disturbing. Her description is of a quite enchanting and non-threatening ghost. He was quiet, stepping in his bare feet as softly as “flakes of snow.” He laughed, although, ghostlike, the sound died away “in Dimples.” And he was “shy” with her, as befits a proper ghost. Nor did the “interview” last long, for she admits it was “transient.” I can only conclude that she was being a bit tongue-in-cheek when she refers to the “appalling Day.”

            The poem begins in a ballad form, like so many of Dickinson’s poems: iambic tetrameter alternating with iambic trimeter. But after the sixth line she uses the trimeter exclusively—a meter typically associated with a more lighthearted verse. She’s telling a ghost story and so relishes the details and ends with a note of faux horror. The audience is to understand that it was all-in-all an experience to be relished rather than suppressed because of its fearsomeness. One wonders, however, whom the gentleman might be. An old landholder from the previous century, perhaps, or maybe some lord from Europe who met an unfortunate end in New England?

            I find the rhyme scheme somewhat lacking. The first, long, stanza is sprinkled with “oh” sounds: so, snow, Roe, Mistletoe; the second has “Breeze” coupled with “Trees.” But the last quatrain has the slant rhyme of “shy” with “Day”—and the effect is to bring the poem to an almost screeching stop. It just doesn’t fit with the quietness of his step and mien and the “pensive Trees”—all lovely and quirky.