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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408292" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Cooranbean</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Years fifty, and seven to boot, have smitten the children of men<br>Since sound of a voice or a foot came out of the head of that glen.<br>The brand of black devil is there—an evil wind moaneth around—<br>There is doom, there is death in the air: a curse groweth up from the ground!<br>No noise of the axe or the saw in that hollow unholy is heard,<br>No fall of the hoof or the paw, no whirr of the wing of the bird;<br>But a grey mother down by the sea, as wan as the foam on the strait,<br>Has counted the beads on her knee these forty-nine winters and eight. <br>Whenever an elder is asked—a white-headed man of the woods—<br>Of the terrible mystery masked where the dark everlastingly broods,<br>Be sure he will turn to the bay, with his back to the glen in the range,<br>And glide like a phantom away, with a countenance pallid with change.<br>From the line of dead timber that lies supine at the foot of the glade,<br>The fierce-featured eaglehawk flies—afraid as a dove is afraid;<br>But back in that wilderness dread are a fall and the forks of a ford—<br>Ah! pray and uncover your head, and lean like a child on the Lord. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A sinister fog at the wane—at the change of the moon cometh forth<br>Like an ominous ghost in the train of a bitter, black storm of the north!<br>At the head of the gully unknown it hangs like a spirit of bale.<br>And the noise of a shriek and a groan strikes up in the gusts of the gale.<br>In the throat of a feculent pit is the beard of a bloody-red sedge;<br>And a foam like the foam of a fit sweats out of the lips of the ledge.<br>But down in the water of death, in the livid, dead pool at the base—<br>Bow low, with inaudible breath, beseech with the hands to the face! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A furlong of fetid, black fen, with gelid, green patches of pond,<br>Lies dumb by the horns of the glen—at the gates of the horror beyond;<br>And those who have looked on it tell of the terrible growths that are there—<br>The flowerage fostered by hell, the blossoms that startle and scare.<br>If ever a wandering bird should light on Gehennas like this<br>Be sure that a cry will be heard, and the sound of the flat adder’s hiss.<br>But hard by the jaws of the bend is a ghastly Thing matted with moss—<br>Ah, Lord! be a father, a friend, for the sake of the Christ of the Cross. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Black Tom, with the sinews of five—that never a hangman could hang—<br>In the days of the shackle and gyve, broke loose from the guards of the gang.<br>Thereafter, for seasons a score, this devil prowled under the ban;<br>A mate of red talon and paw, a wolf in the shape of a man.<br>But, ringed by ineffable fire, in a thunder and wind of the north,<br>The sword of Omnipotent ire—the bolt of high Heaven went forth!<br>But, wan as the sorrowful foam, a grey mother waits by the sea<br>For the boys that have never come home these fifty-four winters and three. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the folds of the forested hills there are ravelled and roundabout tracks,<br>Because of the terror that fills the strong-handed men of the axe!<br>Of the workers away in the range there is none that will wait for the night,<br>When the storm-stricken moon is in change and the sinister fog is in sight.<br>And later and deep in the dark, when the bitter wind whistles about,<br>There is never a howl or a bark from the dog in the kennel without,<br>But the white fathers fasten the door, and often and often they start,<br>At a sound like a foot on the floor and a touch like a hand on the heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408292" data-title="Cooranbean de Henry Kendall" data-description="Years fifty, and seven to boot, have smitten the children of men
Since sound of a voice or a foot came out of the head of that glen.
The brand of black devil is there—an evil wind moaneth around—
There is doom, there is death in the air: a cur..."></div>
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