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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408319" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ghost Glen</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Shut your ears, stranger, or turn from Ghost Glen now, <br>For the paths are grown over, untrodden by men now; <br>Shut your ears, stranger,' saith the grey mother, crooning <br>Her sorcery runic, when sets the half-moon in. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To-night the north-easter goes travelling slowly, <br>But it never stoops down to that hollow unholy; <br>To-night it rolls loud on the ridges red-litten, <br>But it cannot abide in that forest, sin-smitten. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For over the pitfall the moon-dew is thawing, <br>And, with never a body, two shadows stand sawing - <br>The wraiths of two sawyers (~step under and under~), <br>Who did a foul murder and were blackened with thunder! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whenever the storm-wind comes driven and driving, <br>Through the blood-spattered timber you may see the saw striving - <br>You may see the saw heaving, and falling, and heaving, <br>Whenever the sea-creek is chafing and grieving! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And across a burnt body, as black as an adder, <br>Sits the sprite of a sheep-dog (was ever sight sadder?) <br>For, as the dry thunder splits louder and faster, <br>This sprite of a sheep-dog howls for his master. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh, count your beads deftly,' saith the grey mother, crooning <br>Her sorcery runic, when sets the half-moon in. <br>And well may she mutter, for the dark, hollow laughter <br>You will hear in the sawpits and the bloody logs after. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay, count your beads deftly, and keep your ways wary, <br>For the sake of the Saviour and sweet Mother Mary. <br>Pray for your peace in these perilous places, <br>And pray for the laying of horrible faces. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">One starts, with a forehead wrinkled and livid, <br>Aghast at the lightnings sudden and vivid; <br>One telleth, with curses, the gold that they drew there <br>(Ah! cross your breast humbly) from him whom they slew there: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stranger, who came from the loved, the romantic <br>Island that sleeps on the moaning Atlantic, <br>Leaving behind him a patient home, yearning <br>For the steps in the distance - never returning; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who was left in the forest, shrunken and starkly, <br>Burnt by his slayers (so men have said, darkly), <br>With the half-crazy sheep-dog, who cowered beside there, <br>And yelled at the silence, and marvelled, and died there. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yea, cross your breast humbly and hold your breath tightly, <br>Or fly for your life from those shadows unsightly, <br>From the set staring features (cold, and so young, too), <br>And the death on the lips that a mother hath clung to. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I tell you - that bushman is braver than most men <br>Who even in daylight doth go through the Ghost Glen, <br>Although in that hollow, unholy and lonely, <br>He sees the dank sawpits and bloody logs only.</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=408319" data-title="Ghost Glen de Henry Kendall" data-description="'Shut your ears, stranger, or turn from Ghost Glen now, 
For the paths are grown over, untrodden by men now; 
Shut your ears, stranger,' saith the grey mother, crooning 
Her sorcery runic, when sets the half-moon in. 

To-night the north-easter go..."></div>
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