Poetry of the Supernatural Part 4

THE YOUNGER POETS

_The darkness behind me is burning with eyes, It needs not my turning, I know otherwise: The air is a-quiver with rustle of wings And I feel the cold s.h.i.+ver of spiritual things!_

--_"Instinct and Reason"

from "The Book of Winifred Maynard."_

=Benet=, William Rose. Devil's Blood. (Second Film in "Films," in "The Burglar of the Zodiac.")

... Down the path-- _Is it but shadow?_--steals a thread of wrath, A red bright thread. It reaches him. He reels.

_Wet! Warm!_ Wily athwart his step it steals And stains his white court footgear, toes to heels.

=Brooke=, Rupert. Dead Men's Love. (In his Collected Poems. 1918.)

There was a d.a.m.ned successful Poet.

There was a Woman like the sun.

And they were dead. They did not know it.

They did not know their time was done.

---- Hauntings.

So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams, Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams.

=Burnet=, Dana. Ballad of the Late John Flint. (In his Poems. 1915.)

The Bridegroom smiled a twisted smile, "The wine is strong," he said.

The Bride she twirled her wedding ring Nor lifted up her head; And there were three at John Flint's board, And one of them was dead.

=Campbell=, William Wilfred. The Mother. (In John W. Garvin's Canadian Poets and Poetry.)

I dreamed that a rose-leaf hand did cling; Oh, you cannot bury a mother in spring!

I nestled him soft to my throbbing breast, And stole me back to my long, long rest.

---- The Were-wolves. (In Stedman's Victorian Anthology.)

Each panter in the darkness Is a demon-haunted soul, The shadowy, phantom were-wolves That circle round the pole.

=Carman=, Bliss. The Nancy's Pride. (In his Ballads of Lost Haven.)

Her crew lean forth by the rotting shrouds With the Judgment in their face; And to their mates' "G.o.d save you!"

Have never a word of grace.

---- The Yule Guest. (In Ballads of Lost Haven.)

But in the Yule, O Yanna, Up from the round dim sea And reeling dungeons of the fog, I am come back to thee!

=Chalmers=, Patrick R. The Little Ghost. (In his Green Days and Blue Days.)

Down the long path, beset With heaven-scented, haunting mignonette, The gardeners say A little grey Ghost-lady walks!

=Colum=, Padraic. The Ballad of Downal Baun. (In Wild Earth and Other Poems.)

"O dream-taught man," said the woman-- She stood where the willows grew, A woman from the country Where the c.o.c.ks never crew.

=Couch=, Arthur Quiller-. Dolor Oogo. (In John Masefield's A Sailor's Garland.)

Thirteen men by Ruan Sh.o.r.e, Dolor Oogo, Dolor Oogo, Drowned men since 'eighty-four Down in Dolor Oogo: On the cliff against the sky, Ailsa, wife of Malachi That cold woman-- Sits and knits eternally.

=De La Mare=, Walter. The Keys of Morning. (In his The Listeners.)

She slanted her small bead-brown eyes Across the empty street And saw Death softly watching her In the suns.h.i.+ne pale and sweet.

---- The Listeners.

But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller's call.

---- The Witch.

All of these dead were stirring Each unto each did call, "A witch, a witch is sleeping Under the churchyard wall."

=Dollard=, Father. Ballad of the Banshee. (In J. W. Garvin's Canadian Poets and Poetry.)

Mother of mercy! there she sat, A woman clad in a snow-white shroud, Streamed her hair to the damp moss-mat, White the face on her bosom bowed!

=Fletcher=, John Gould. The Ghosts of an Old House. (In his Goblins and PaG.o.das.)

Yet I often wonder If these things are really dead.

If the old trunks never open Letting out grey flapping things at twilight.

If it is all as safe and dull As it seems?

=Furlong=, Alice. The Warnings. (In Padric Gregory's Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)

I was weaving by the door-post, when I heard the Death-Watch beating; And I signed the Cross upon me, and I spoke the Name of Three.

High and fair, through cloud and air, a silver moon was fleeting, But the night began to darken as the Death-Watch beat for me.