F 407
One need not be a Chamber – to be Haunted – One need not be a House – The Brain has Corridors – surpassing Material Place – Far safer, of a midnight meeting External Ghost Than it’s interior confronting – That cooler Host – Far safer, through an Abbey gallop, The Stones a’chase – Than unarmed, one’s a’self encounter – In lonesome Place – Ourself behind ourself, concealed – Should startle most – Assassin hid in our apartment – Be Horror’s least – The Body – borrows a Revolver – He bolts the Door – O’erlooking a superior spectre – Or More – |
F 344
‘Twas just this time, last year, I died. I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms – It had the Tassels on – I thought how yellow it would look – When Richard went to mill – And then, I wanted to get out, But something held my will. I thought just how Red – Apples wedged The Stubble’s joints between – And Carts went stooping round the fields To take the Pumpkins in – I wondered which would miss me, least, And when Thanksgiving, came, If Father’d multiply the plates – To make an even Sum – And would it blur the Christmas glee My stocking hang too high For any Santa Claus to reach The altitude of me – But this sort, grieved myself, And so, I thought the other way, How just this time, some perfect year – Themself, should come to me – |