The Haunted Hour - An Anthology by Various
page 111 of 244 (45%)
page 111 of 244 (45%)
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By grief too much engrossed,
Nor for a ghost of color turn The color of a ghost! "Again, farewell, my Phoebe dear! Once more a last adieu! For I must make myself as scarce As swans of sable hue." From black to gray, from gray to nought The shape began to fade-- And like an egg, though not so white, The ghost was newly laid!" THE GHOST: THOMAS HOOD _A Very Serious Ballad_ In Middle Row, some years ago, There lived one Mr. Brown; And many folks considered him The stoutest man in town. But Brown and stout will both wear out-- One Friday he died hard, And left a widow'd wife to mourn At twenty pence a yard. Now widow B. in two short months Thought mourning quite a tax; |
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