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|Celtic Radio Community > Celtic Hearts > Ghosts|
|Posted by: Leelee 05-Oct-2009, 04:31 PM|
The dead leaves skip on the porches bare,
The windows clatter and whine.
I sit here in the quiet house low-lit.
With the clock that ticks and the books that stand.
Wise and silent, on every hand.
I am almost afraid; though I know the night
Lets no ghosts walk in the warm lamplight.
Yet ghosts there are; and they blow, they blow,
Out in the wind and the scattering snow.
When I open the windows and go to bed,
Will the ghosts come In and stand at my head?
Last night I dreamed they came back again.
I heard them talking; I saw them plain.
They hugged me and held me and loved me; spoke
Of happy doings and friendly folk.
They seemed to have journeyed a week away,
But now they were ready and glad to stay.
But, oh, if they came on the wind to-night
Could I bear their faces, their garments white
Blown in the dark around my lonely bed?
Oh, could I forgive them for being dead?
I am almost afraid of the wind. My shame!
That I would not be glad if my dear ones came!
-Fannie Stearns Davis
|Posted by: mcnberry 05-Oct-2009, 10:43 PM|
~by Virginia McVeigh
I remember the dread on Halloween
On the old Hallow's Eve of yore
As I lay in my bed
On a damp Irish night
And quivered to the core
For gone was the play
Of the careless day
Spent dressed in weird attire
In a witch's hat
And a turnip light
And stories by the fire
For amid the embers of fading light
I remembered I'd yet to face the night
The night when the ghosts and the goblins came
To call us every one by name
And tormented souls
Not quite in heaven
Would come to show their ghastly face
Through the dark hole in the fire-place
And I prayed that if roaming abroad they should be
These ghostly visions
Would not find me