The Haunted Hour - An Anthology by Various
page 134 of 244 (54%)
page 134 of 244 (54%)
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All in vain I wait to hear Ghostly histories of wrong Unconfessed and unforgiven, Unavenged and suffered long; Not a story does he tell, Not a single word he says-- Only sits and gazes at me Steadily, and plays and plays. Who is he, my midnight guest? Wherefore does he haunt me so; Coming from the misty shadows Of a hundred years ago? HAUNTED: AMY LOWELL See! He trails his toes Through the long streaks of moonlight, And the nails of his fingers glitter; They claw and flash among the tree-tops. His lips suck at my open window, And his breath creeps about my body And lies in pools under my knees. I can see his mouth sway and wobble, Sticking itself against the window-jambs, But the moonlight is bright on the floor, Without a shadow. |
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