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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Haunted</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Haunted? Ay, in a social way<br>By a body of ghosts in dread array;<br>But no conventional spectres they -<br>Appalling, grim, and tricky:<br>I quail at mine as I'd never quail<br>At a fine traditional spectre pale,<br>With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,<br>And a splash of blood on the dickey!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mine are horrible, social ghosts, -<br>Speeches and women and guests and hosts,<br>Weddings and morning calls and toasts,<br>In every bad variety:<br>Ghosts who hover about the grave<br>Of all that's manly, free, and brave:<br>You'll find their names on the architrave<br>Of that charnel-house, Society.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Black Monday - black as its school-room ink -<br>With its dismal boys that snivel and think<br>Of its nauseous messes to eat and drink,<br>And its frozen tank to wash in.<br>That was the first that brought me grief,<br>And made me weep, till I sought relief<br>In an emblematical handkerchief,<br>To choke such baby bosh in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">First and worst in the grim array-<br>Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,<br>Which I wouldn't revive for a single day<br>For all the wealth of PLUTUS -<br>Are the horrible ghosts that school-days scared:<br>If the classical ghost that BRUTUS dared<br>Was the ghost of his &quot;Caesar&quot; unprepared,<br>I'm sure I pity BRUTUS.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I pass to critical seventeen;<br>The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,<br>When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen,<br>And woke my dream of heaven.<br>No schoolgirl decked in her nurse-room curls<br>Was my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls;<br>If she wasn't a girl of a thousand girls,<br>She was one of forty-seven!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see the ghost of my first cigar,<br>Of the thence-arising family jar -<br>Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar,<br>And I called the Judge &quot;Your wushup!&quot;)<br>Of reckless days and reckless nights,<br>With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,<br>Unholy songs and tipsy fights,<br>Which I strove in vain to hush up.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,<br>Ghosts of &quot;copy, declined with thanks,&quot;<br>Of novels returned in endless ranks,<br>And thousands more, I suffer.<br>The only line to fitly grace<br>My humble tomb, when I've run my race,<br>Is, &quot;Reader, this is the resting-place<br>Of an unsuccessful duffer.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've fought them all, these ghosts of mine,<br>But the weapons I've used are sighs and brine,<br>And now that I'm nearly forty-nine,<br>Old age is my chiefest bogy;<br>For my hair is thinning away at the crown,<br>And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;<br>And a general verdict sets me down<br>As an irreclaimable fogy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Schwenck+Gilbert">William Schwenck Gilbert</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=538948" data-title="Haunted de William Schwenck Gilbert" data-description="Haunted? Ay, in a social way
By a body of ghosts in dread array;
But no conventional spectres they -
Appalling, grim, and tricky:
I quail at mine as I'd never quail
At a fine traditional spectre pale,
With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,
And a s..."></div>
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