NaPoWriMo Day 26: The Ghost Poem

The Ghost Poem

On either side the river lie

long fields.

And through the field the road runs by

And up and down the people go,


Round an island there below

aspens quiver,

Little breezes dusk and shiver

By the island in the river.

Gray walls, and gray towers,

Overlook a space

And the silent isle imbowers


Slide the heavy barges trailed

By slow horses; and unhailed



But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the casement seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land?


Reapers, reaping early

Among the bearded barley,

A song

That echoes cheerly

From the river clearly.

By the moon the reaper grows weary,


Listening, whispers…



There she weaves night and day

A magic web

She has heard a whisper say,

A curse is on her if she stay

She knows not what the curse may be,

And so she weaveth steadily,

And little other care hath she,


Shadows of the world appear.

Sometimes a troop

on an ambling pad,

a curly shepherd-lad,

in crimson clad,

Through the mirror blue

The knights come riding

She hath no loyal knight and true.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror’s magic sights.


Silent nights.

The moon overhead,

Two young, half-sick shadows.





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