A Woman's Mood
I THINK to-night I could bear it all,
Even the arrow that cleft the core,—
Could I wait again for your swift footfall,
And your sunny face coming in at the door.
With the old frank look and the gay young smile,
And the ring of the words you used to say;
I could almost deem the pain worth while,
To greet you again in the olden way!
But you stand without in the dark and cold,
And I may not open the long closed door,
Nor call thro’ the night, with the love of old,—
“Come into the warmth, as in nights of yore!”
I kneel alone in the red fire-glow,
And hear the wings of the wind sweep by;
You are out afar in the night, I know,
And the sough of the wind is like a cry.
You are out afar—and I wait within,
A grave-eyed woman whose pulse is slow;
The flames round the red coals softly spin,
And the lonely room’s in a rosy glow.
The firelight falls on your vacant chair,
And the soft brown rug where you used to stand;
Dear, never again shall I see you there,
Nor lift my head for your seeking hand.
Yet sometimes still, and in spite of all,
I wistful look at the fastened door,
And wait again for the swift footfall,
And the gay young voice as in hours of yore.
It still seems strange to be here alone,
With the rising sob of the wind without;
The sound takes a deep, insisting tone,
Where the trees are swinging their arms about.
Its moaning reaches the sheltered room,
And thrills my heart with a sense of pain;
I walk to the window, and pierce the gloom,
With a yearning look that is all in vain.
You are out in a night of depths that hold
No promise of dawning for you and me,
And only a ghost from the life of old
Has come from the world of memory!
You are out evermore! God wills it so!
But ah! my spirit is yearning yet!
As I kneel alone by the red fire-glow,
My eyes grow dim with the old regret.
O when shall the aching throb grow still,
The warm love-life turn cold at the core!
Must I be watching, against my will,
For your banished face in the opening door?
It may be, dear, when the sequel’s told
Of the story, read to its bitter close;
When the inner meanings of life unfold,
And the under-side of our being shows—
It may be then, in that truer light,
When all our knowledge has larger grown,
I may understand why you stray to-night,
And I am left, with the past, alone.
poem by Jenning Carmichael
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Woman's Mood
I think to-night I could bear it all,
Even the arrow that cleft the core, --
Could I wait again for your swift footfall,
And your sunny face coming in at the door.
With the old frank look and the gay young smile,
And the ring of the words you used to say;
I could almost deem the pain worth while,
To greet you again in the olden way!
But you stand without in the dark and cold,
And I may not open the long closed door,
Nor call thro' the night, with the love of old, --
"Come into the warmth, as in nights of yore!"
I kneel alone in the red fire-glow,
And hear the wings of the wind sweep by;
You are out afar in the night, I know,
And the sough of the wind is like a cry.
You are out afar -- and I wait within,
A grave-eyed woman whose pulse is slow;
The flames round the red coals softly spin,
And the lonely room's in a rosy glow.
The firelight falls on your vacant chair,
And the soft brown rug where you used to stand;
Dear, never again shall I see you there,
Nor lift my head for your seeking hand.
Yet sometimes still, and in spite of all,
I wistful look at the fastened door,
And wait again for the swift footfall,
And the gay young voice as in hours of yore.
It still seems strange to be here alone,
With the rising sob of the wind without;
The sound takes a deep, insisting tone,
Where the trees are swinging their arms about.
Its moaning reaches the sheltered room,
And thrills my heart with a sense of pain;
I walk to the window, and pierce the gloom,
With a yearning look that is all in vain.
You are out in a night of depths that hold
No promise of dawning for you and me,
And only a ghost from the life of old
Has come from the world of memory!
You are out evermore! God wills it so!
But ah! my spirit is yearning yet!
As I kneel alone by the red fire-glow,
My eyes grow dim with the old regret.
O when shall the aching throb grow still,
The warm love-life turn cold at the core!
Must I be watching, against my will,
For your banished face in the opening door?
It may be, dear, when the sequel's told
Of the story, read to its bitter close;
When the inner meanings of life unfold,
And the under-side of our being shows --
It may be then, in that truer light,
When all our knowledge has larger grown,
I may understand why you stray to-night,
And I am left, with the past, alone.
poem by Arthur Bayldon
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Welcome Home
The fire burns bright
And the hearth is clean swept,
As she likes it kept,
And the lamp is alight.
She is coming to-night.
The wind's east of late.
When she comes, she'll be cold,
So the big chair is rolled
Close up to the grate,
And I listen and wait.
The shutters are fast,
And the red curtains hide
Every hint of outside.
But hark, how the blast
Whistled then as it passed!
Or was it the train?
How long shall I stand,
With my watch in my hand,
And listen in vain
For the wheels in the lane?
Hark! A rumble I hear
(Will the wind not be still?),
And it comes down the hill,
And it grows on the ear,
And now it is near.
Quick, a fresh log to burn!
Run and open the door,
Hold a lamp out before
To light up the turn,
And bring in the urn.
You are come, then, at last!
O my dear, is it you?
I can scarce think it true
I am holding you fast,
And sorrow is past.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Night Secrets
Night Secrets…
No more my aching heart
As you sleep silent in my breast
Awakening in the night
I await your sweet caress
My aching, barren arms in vain
So many times I've wept
At night upon my pillow
While in my bed I slept
Night secrets in the darkness
Like dark, murky shadows
That linger in the night
The rain softly whispers
Through the wind and trees
Carrying my secrets
To the moon shining bright
Secrets kept deep within my heart
They whisper in the night
No one else may listen
There's no one else in sight
They echo through the evening
Those things I cannot share
My secrets whispering in the darkness
Like a breeze fluttering through air
Until then…
I'll wait my love
For your soft, caressing touch
With the stars softly glowing
Through the window in my room
I lie quietly in my bed
With the shadows of the night
Whispers flow in the breeze
Sending them gently to the moon
Until then…
I'll wait til you come again
When I can softly whisper in your ear
Those secrets that I carry
Sharing secrets...
With the one I love so dear
Until then I'll wait...
For my heart belongs to only you
poem by ANNE P LadeeAnne MURRAY
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Jasmines
Your scent is in the room.
Swiftly it overwhelms and conquers me!
Jasmines, night jasmines, perfect of perfume,
Heavy with dew before the dawn of day!
Your face was in the mirror. I could see
You smile and vanish suddenly away,
Leaving behind the vestige of a tear.
Sad suffering face, from parting grown so dear!
Night jasmines cannot bloom in this cold place;
Without the street is wet and weird with snow;
The cold nude trees are tossing to and fro;
Too stormy is the night for your fond face;
For your low voice too loud the wind's mad roar.
But, oh, your scent is here--jasmines that grow
Luxuriant, clustered round your cottage door!
poem by Claude McKay
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A Rain, Let It Pour To Here
Till night
I wait here
she may ring to me
she may speaks softly
I will wait for a call
Till night and
wish to hear your voice you dear
you may sing song of love
touched your heart, I
fill with love
tell me why why don't you ring
close your eyes, cry with pain
love you dear
when you knocking my door
I don't know what I feel
you might laugh
when I cry
sending your love
standing by soul
passing a year
I don't know right at night
then again
summer came
her old smiling wallet
ringing mobile
and old prayer book.....
and again you a hanging soul
summer came around
and her old blanket on the floor
I woke to the slamming of the door
then the rain came....
and we just let it pour all over to here....
sometimes i just thinking of you
i've been not feel a love of you
and i'm looking not of you
you are a soul hanging, our wall
she said will I come in this vishu dear
well you know that we want to meet
then rain come
let pour all over to here
well i never would have been there
poem by Thampi KEE
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My Swan Song
A vision of perfection, I must stare
Your arms, legs, your body, and your hair
With you I can find happiness
You are the one I want to caress
So it was written and so it must be told
It is you I want to have and to hold
At my window sat a single turtle dove
For I don’t want to live without your love
It rains all day since you are not here
My mind is in a daze no longer I see clear
On you all the money I would spend
I love you too much to ever be your friend
Your voice seems to mess up my brain
But I can’t wait to hear it again
I love all the things that you do
That is why I can’t wait to hear from you
Good morning sadness, please go away
Times I wonder how I make through the day
Please tell me how can I release the pain?
Knowing you’ll never come home again
I’m dieing inside without you here
I hunger for your love but do you even care
Loves fire I’m still burning
For your love I’m still yearning
My heart has been wounded very badly
But my life to you I would give gladly
My joy has gone I’m in a constant sad mood
Left behind to live a life of solitude
I gave you my best, I gave you my all
On my knees for you I would crawl
My love comes in all different kinds
But for you I would have died a thousand times
From God’s grace I fell
Pain and sorrow I know them well
I can’t sleep at night any more
Heart ache is my sickness and love’s the cure
I thought that you were special that certain kind
Now crazy thoughts run thru my mind
Dark as the night, cold as the winters
Closed the door, no love longer enters
Words them to sway you I can’t find
Cause you have left me so far behind
No one loves me, no one really cares
When you look back will I still be there
I hear the angels, I hear there call
Saying it’s better to have loved than not at all
From your love I will never recover
For you have been my one and only lover
My love freely I can never give away
I will always love you till the end of day
Darkness surrounds me now that you’re gone
Night cometh no longer the dawn
Pushed aside I’m no longer strong
For in your arms I truly belong
Remember the one that loved you no matter how you look
For my heart and soul is what you took
Young and innocent they have not a clue
So punish me but them too
Foolish is the man that thinks of no other
See the signs and remember the father
What you give is what you’ll get
For what you do one day you will regret
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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At Her Door
OPEN! Open! Open!
I am here at your door outside;
The sea's blue tide flows speedily,
And ebbs a thin red tide.'
The woman rose from her warm white bed,
Threw back her hair and smiled;
The ears of scorn heard the words of love,
And the wind and the words were wild.
'Wake! Awake! Awake!
And hearken the woe outside;
The moon is hid in cloudiness;
Calleth and calleth the tide.'
The woman stood in the silence still
As a thing men carve from stone.
Her eyes burned largely in the dark,
And the smile, like a stain, stayed on.
'Listen! Listen! Listen!
Hear you the rain to-night?
A warm dark rain is falling too,
And I grow ghostly-white.'
The woman took three steps and bowed;
The smile waned from her lip;
She heard the dripping of the rain
And a soft thick other drip.
'Open! Open! Open!
I die in the dark alone.
My voice goes up in weariness
Against your heart of stone.'
The moon to a cloud-cleft stealing
Gazed down on the yearning tide;
The woman opened the streaming door
And stood in the rain outside.
Silence! Stillness! She whispers,
'Ah, Love, that death should be!'
He sighed, 'Your lips are loveliness!'
And she sobbed, 'Woe is me!'
The woman pressed his dead white face
With her face as deadly white:
The moon drew in behind a cloud,
And the tide moaned through the night.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Ringing Heart
Ringing heart
I am a gust of wind
From the north warm and cold
With a tender touch
I blow
Just keep open your wonderful window
Under the mystical dark cover I hide
And wait for your whisper call
To enter like a king to
steal
your ringing heart
Just keep your wonderful door open and wide
Like your dream man at a deep dark night
I break into your thrilling room
As a rain of desire or dream of ray
When I see at your door step
You spread
Colourful love petals
Over the hot and red carpet.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Single Candle Light
The warm glow of a single candle flame
beckons a weary stranger there
to the bosom of a warm fire in
from the nighttime's cold.
A warm caring heart keeps the candle lit
to welcome back their love
from their long and lonely trek.
Each night they light the candle,
and sit waiting all alone,
hoping one night their love,
will glance on it
and return to their loving home.
The warm stretching finger
prods the darkness every night,
as it can be seen from miles away
across the empty prairie,
as they sit alone each night
by the warm fair light.
Hoping that their love will see its warm glow
and return to it and come home tonight
from their long and weary trek.
For years, the candle was lit,
but sadly, it shines no more.
Love broke the lonely heart
when they never came home.
Now all you can hear is a lonesome whistle
when the wind blows cold at night.
It has replaced that warm glow
of that single candle light.
poem by David Harris
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Battle Of Evermore
Queen of Light took her bow
And then she turned to go
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom
And walked the night alone.
Oh dance in the dark of night
Sing to the morn ing light.
The dark Lord rides in force tonight
And time will tell us all.
Oh throw down your plow and hoe
Rest not to lock your homes.
Side by side we wait the might
Of the darkest of them all.
I hear the horses' thunder
Down in the valley blow,
I'm waiting for the angels of Avalon,
Waiting for the eastern glow.
The apples of the valley hold,
The seas of happiness,
The ground is rich from tender care,
Repay, do not forget, no, no.
Oh,-------dance in the dark of night,
sing to the morning light.
The apples turn to brown and black, The tyrant's face is red.
Oh the war is common cry, Pick up you swords and fly.
The sky is filled with good and bad
That mortals never know.
Oh, well, the night is long, The beads of time pass slow,
Tired eyes on the sunrise, Waiting for the eastern glow.
The pain of war cannot exceed
The woe of aftermath,
The drums will shake the castle wall,
The ring wraiths ride in black, Ride on.
Sing as you raise your bow,
Shoot straighter than before.
No comfort has the fire at night
That lights the face so cold.
Oh dance in the dark of night,
Sing to the mornin' light.
The magic runes are writ in gold
To bring the balance back, Bring it back.
At last the sun is shining, The clouds of blue roll by,
With flames from the dragon of darkness
The sunlight blinds his eyes
song performed by by Led Zeppelin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Battle Of Evermore
Queen of light took her bow
And then she turned to go,
The prince of peace embraced the gloom
And walked the night alone.
Oh, dance in the dark of night,
Sing to the morn - ing light.
The dark lord rides in force tonight
And time will tell us all.
Oh, throw down your plow and hoe,
Rest not to lock your homes.
Side by side we wait the might
Of the darkest of them all.
I hear the horses thunder
Down in the valley blow,
Im waiting for the angels of avalon,
Waiting for the eastern glow.
The apples of the valley hold,
The seas of happiness,
The ground is rich from tender care,
Repay, do not forget, no, no.
Oh,-------dance in the dark of night,
Sing to the morning light.
The apples turn to brown and black, the tyrants face is red.
Oh the war is common cry, pick up you swords and fly.
The sky is filled with good and bad
That mortals never know.
Oh, well, the night is long, the beads of time pass slow,
Tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow.
The pain of war cannot exceed
The woe of aftermath,
The drums will shake the castle wall,
The ring wraiths ride in black, ride on.
Sing as you raise your bow,
Shoot straighter than before.
No comfort has the fire at night
That lights the face so cold.
Oh dance in the dark of night,
Sing to the mornin light.
The magic runes are writ in gold
To bring the balance back, bring it back.
At last the sun is shining, the clouds of blue roll by,
With flames from the dragon of darkness
The sunlight blinds his eyes.
song performed by by Led Zeppelin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lady’s Lament
Never happy any more!
Aye, turn the saying o'er and o'er,
It says but what it said before,
And heart and life are just as sore.
The wet leaves blow aslant the floor
In the rain through the open door.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
The eyes are weary and give o'er,
But still the soul weeps as before.
And always must each one deplore
Each once, nor bear what others bore?
This is now as it was of yore.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
Is it not but a sorry lore
That says, “Take strength, the worst is o'er”?
Shall the stars seem as heretofore?
The day wears on more and more—
While I was weeping the day wore.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
In the cold behind the door
That was the dial striking four:
One for joy the past hours bore,
Two for hope and will cast o'er,
One for the naked dark before.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
Put the light out, shut the door,
Sweep the wet leaves from the floor.
Even thus Fate's hand has swept her floor,
Even thus Love's hand has shut the door
Through which his warm feet passed of yore.
Shall it be opened any more?
No, no, no more.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Judgement Day
(coverdale/vandenberg)
The night is gone,
The time has come
To find a new day has begun,
An it promises to stay
To soothe the pain of wasted years
An kiss away the bitter tears
A love to light the way
And from the darkness
Comes a smile,
That reaches out for many miles,
Touching everyone.
No more shadows of the past,
Your spirit free to fly at last,
Shining in the sun
Like the rolling thunder,
I feel the power of love,
Its a gift from heaven
And the lord above
We walk toward desire,
Hand and hand
Through fields of fire
With only love to light the way
On the road to judgement day
Take it easy, take it slow,
Ill take you anywhere you wanna go,
Places never seen before
cause I love you, an I need you,
Ill do my best to please you,
My love can open any door
When you hear the thunder
In your darkest night,
Ill be there to hold you
When the lightning strikes
So dont you worry,
You can ease your mind
cause well be dancing
At the end of time
Who loves you, who needs you,
Wholl do his best to please you,
I love you, I need you
Ill get down on my knees
We walk toward desire,
Hand and hand
Through fields of fire
With only love to light the way
On the road to judgement day
So dont you worry, baby
On the road to judgement day
Who loves you, who needs you
On the road to judgement day
So I love you, and I need you
My love can open any door
My love can open any door...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pêcheresse
Down the long quay the slow boats glide,
While here and there a house looms white
Against the gloom of the waterside,
And some high window throws a light
As they sail out into the night.
At dawn they will bring in again
To women knitting on the quay
Who wait for him, their man of men;
I stand with them, and watch the sea
Which may have taken mine from me.
Just so the long days come and go.
The nights, ma Doué! the nights are cold!
Our Lady's heart is as frozen snow,
Since this one sin I have not told;
And I shall die or perhaps grow old
Before he comes. The foreign ships
Bring many a one of face and name
As strange as his, to buy your lips,
A gold piece for a scarlet shame
Like mine. But mine was not the same.
One night was ours, one short grey day
Of sudden sin, unshrived, untold.
He found me, and I lost the way
To Paradise for him. I sold
My soul for love and not for gold
He bought my soul, but even so,
My face is all that he has seen,
His is the only face I know,
And in the dark church, like a screen.
It shuts God out; it comes between;
While in some narrow foreign street
Or loitering on the crowded quay,
Who knows what others he may meet
To turn his eyes away from me?
Many are fair to such as he!
There is but one for such as I
To love, to hate, to hunger for;
I shall, perhaps, grow old and die,
With one short day to spend and store,
One night, in all my life, no more.
Just so the long days come and go,
Yet this one sin I will not tell
Though Mary's heart is as frozen snow
And all nights are cold for one warmed too well.
But, oh! ma Doué! the nights of Hell!
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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The Changeling
Toll no bell for me, dear Father dear Mother,
Waste no sighs;
There are my sisters, there is my little brother
Who plays in the place called Paradise,
Your children all, your children for ever;
But I, so wild,
Your disgrace, with the queer brown face, was never,
Never, I know, but half your child!
In the garden at play, all day, last summer,
Far and away I heard
The sweet "tweet-tweet" of a strange new-comer,
The dearest, clearest call of a bird.
It lived down there in the deep green hollow,
My own old home, and the fairies say
The word of a bird is a thing to follow,
So I was away a night and a day.
One evening, too, by the nursery fire,
We snuggled close and sat roudn so still,
When suddenly as the wind blew higher,
Something scratched on the window-sill,
A pinched brown face peered in--I shivered;
No one listened or seemed to see;
The arms of it waved and the wings of it quivered,
Whoo--I knew it had come for me!
Some are as bad as bad can be!
All night long they danced in the rain,
Round and round in a dripping chain,
Threw their caps at the window-pane,
Tried to make me scream and shout
And fling the bedclothes all about:
I meant to stay in bed that night,
And if only you had left a light
They would never have got me out!
Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see,
Or answer when you spoke to me,
Because in the long, still dusks of Spring
You can hear the whole world whispering;
The shy green grasses making love,
The feathers grow on the dear grey dove,
The tiny heart of the redstart beat,
The patter of the squirrel's feet,
The pebbles pushing in the silver streams,
The rushes talking in their dreams,
The swish-swish of the bat's black wings,
The wild-wood bluebell's sweet ting-tings,
Humming and hammering at your ear,
Everything there is to hear
In the heart of hidden things.
But not in the midst of the nursery riot,
That's why I wanted to be quiet,
Couldn't do my sums, or sing,
Or settle down to anything.
And when, for that, I was sent upstairs
I did kneel down to say my prayers;
But the King who sits on your high church steeple
Has nothing to do with us fairy people!
'Times I pleased you, dear Father, dear Mother,
Learned all my lessons and liked to play,
And dearly I loved the little pale brother
Whom some other bird must have called away.
Why did they bring me here to make me
Not quite bad and not quite good,
Why, unless They're wicked, do They want, in spite,
to take me
Back to Their wet, wild wood?
Now, every nithing I shall see the windows shining,
The gold lamp's glow, and the fire's red gleam,
While the best of us are twining twigs and the rest of us
are whining
In the hollow by the stream.
Black and chill are Their nights on the wold;
And They live so long and They feel no pain:
I shall grow up, but never grow old,
I shall always, always be very cold,
I shall never come back again!
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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In The Cold, Cold, Night
I saw you standing in the corner
On the edge of a burning light
I saw you standing in the corner
Come to me again in the cold, cold night
You make me feel a little older
Like a full grown woman might
But when youre gone I grow colder
In the cold, cold, night
I saw you standing in the corner
On the edge of a burning light
I saw you standing in the corner
Come to me again in the cold, cold night
You make me feel a little older
Like a full grown woman might
But when youre gone I grow colder
Come to me again in the cold, cold night
I see you walking by my front door
I hear the creaking of the kitchen floor
I dont care what other people say
Im going to love you, anyway
Come to me again in the cold, cold night
I cant stand it any longer
I need the fuel to make my fire burn bright
So dont fight it any longer
Come to me again in the cold, cold night
And I know that you feel it too
When my skin turns into glue
You will know that its warm inside
And youll come run to me, in the cold, cold night
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Spirit Of The Unborn Babe
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe peered through the window-pane,
Peered through the window-pane that glowed like beacon in the night;
For, oh, the sky was desolate and wild with wind and rain;
And how the little room was crammed with coziness and light!
Except the flirting of the fire there was no sound at all;
The Woman sat beside the hearth, her knitting on her knee;
The shadow of her husband's head was dancing on the wall;
She looked with staring eyes at it, she looked yet did not see.
She only saw a childish face that topped the table rim,
A little wistful ghost that smiled and vanished quick away;
And then because her tender eyes were flooding to the brim,
She lowered her head. . . . "Don't sorrow, dear," she heard him softly say;
"It's over now. We'll try to be as happy as before
(Ah! they who little children have, grant hostages to pain).
We gave Life chance to wound us once, but never, never more. . . ."
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe fled through the night again.
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe went wildered in the dark;
Like termagants the winds tore down and whirled it with the snow.
And then amid the writhing storm it saw a tiny spark,
A window broad, a spacious room all goldenly aglow,
A woman slim and Paris-gowned and exquisitely fair,
Who smiled with rapture as she watched her jewels catch the blaze;
A man in faultless evening dress, young, handsome, debonnaire,
Who smoked his cigarette and looked with frank admiring gaze.
"Oh, we are happy, sweet," said he; "youth, health, and wealth are ours.
What if a thousand toil and sweat that we may live at ease!
What if the hands are worn and torn that strew our path with flowers!
Ah, well! we did not make the world; let us not think of these.
Let's seek the beauty-spots of earth, Dear Heart, just you and I;
Let other women bring forth life with sorrow and with pain.
Above our door we'll hang the sign: `No children need apply. . . .'"
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe sped through the night again.
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe went whirling on and on;
It soared above a city vast, it swept down to a slum;
It saw within a grimy house a light that dimly shone;
It peered in through a window-pane and lo! a voice said: "Come!"
And so a little girl was born amid the dirt and din,
And lived in spite of everything, for life is ordered so;
A child whose eyes first opened wide to swinishness and sin,
A child whose love and innocence met only curse and blow.
And so in due and proper course she took the path of shame,
And gladly died in hospital, quite old at twenty years;
And when God comes to weigh it all, ah! whose shall be the blame
For all her maimed and poisoned life, her torture and her tears?
For oh, it is not what we do, but what we have not done!
And on that day of reckoning, when all is plain and clear,
What if we stand before the Throne, blood-guilty every one? . . .
Maybe the blackest sins of all are Selfishness and Fear.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghosts
There are ghosts in the room.
As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there
They come out of the gloom,
And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair.
There's the ghost of a Hope
That lighted my days with a fanciful glow.
In her hand is the rope
That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago.
But her ghost comes to-night,
With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes,
And it stands in the light,
And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs.
There's the ghost of a Joy,
A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much,
And the hands that destroy
Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch.
There's the ghost of a Love,
Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest,
But he towers above
All the others... this ghost: yet a ghost at the best.
I am weary, and fain
Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host
Make my struggle in vain,
In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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In My Study,
Out over my study,
All ashen and ruddy,
Sinks the December sun;
And high up over
The chimney’s soot cove,
The winter night wind has begun.
Here in the red embers
I dream old Decembers,
Until the low moan of the blast,
Like a voice out of Ghost-land,
Or memory’s lost-land,
Seems to conjure up wraiths of the past.
Then into the room
Through the firelight and gloom,
Some one steals,—let the night-wind grow bleak,
And ever so coldly,—
Two white arms enfold me,
And a sweet face is close to my cheek
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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The Ghost
The yawning creak of the door
as ivy branches tap the windowpane,
dancing shadows from the candle
caught in a draught from beneath the door.
I sit in what is reputed to be a very haunted room
waiting to see a ghost no one has ever seen.
They’ve only heard the wailing
in the middle of the night.
Therefore, I’m sitting here
my imagination wanting to play tricks
on me as darkness falls.
I’ve come to help this lost wailing spirit
that seems bound to this room
and to help release it
into the heavenly light,
also to find its secret
why it is bound to this room.
The town clock chimes midnight.
I wait, but nothing happens.
Maybe the lost wailing spirit
has taken the night off.
A voice sounded from the gloom.
“Excuse me, are you still up? ”
I looked around
and there by the doorway
stood a tall dark figure there.
“Yes, how can I help you? ”
“Please put out the candle
as it is keeping me awake.”
“But this room is haunted
and I’m waiting to see the ghost.”
Then came, a hearty chuckle
from the dark figure.
“So they got you at as well.
Turn out the candle
and get good nights sleep.
There is no ghost here.
Who on earth told you that.
Whoever it was
just tell them Smiler told you so.”
The next morning
after one of the best sleeps,
I have ever had.
I told the proprietor who had invited me.
They laughed when I told them
that Smiler had told me so.
When they stopped laughing
they said. “Smiler is the ghost
we were telling you about.”
poem by David Harris
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