Here's a scary Halloween poem about a Witch and her very hungry cat. Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. Take your time reading this one. There watched I for the Dead; but no ghost woke. ", "Oh not to-morrow into the dark, I pray; Oh not to-morrow, too soon to go away: Here I feel warm and well-content and gay: Give me another year, another day. You know the old, whilst I know the new: But to-morrow you shall know this too. O William dear! ), I should have loved a thunderbird instead;At least when spring comes they roar back again.I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. William Shakespeare: The Witches’ Spell from "Macbeth" (1606) William Shakespeare (1564–1616) wrote nearly 40 plays, including this one about an ambitious Scottish nobleman. We have no title-deeds to house or lands; Owners and occupants of earlier dates From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands And hold in mortmain still their old estates. When reciting these poems, it is suggested that you turn the lights down low - or, even better, switch them off altogether - and light a candle! We meet them at the door-way, on the stair Along the passages they come and go Impalpable impressions on the air A sense of something moving to and fro. And the dim shore echoed for many a night The name of the death-cold maid. And never more shall leaves come forth On the bough that bears the ban; I am burned with dread, I am dried and dead From the curse of a guiltless man. Halloween is the perfect night to gather by the light of a lone candle, or to sit by the flickering flame of a log fire and conjure up creepy images of ghosties and ghoulies, long-leggetie beasties, and things that go bump in the night. Sonnet 15: When I consider everything that grows. To me it sounds a bit funny. (I think I made you up inside my head.). © (1999) Richard Jones All rights reserved. 2020 Bustle Digital Group. There are more guests at table than the hosts Invited; the illuminated hall Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts As silent as the pictures on the wall. All houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses. And he kiss’d her and took her for his bride. We are afraid They would envy our delight In our graves by glow-worm night. In this case, poetry is used to create dark, unnerving stories and scenarios, none of which are even remotely pleasant. Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds - His path was rugged and sore Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds Through many a fen where the serpent feeds And man never trod before. Most people associate it with love, romance, and heartache, but poetry actually has a long and rich history of being, well, spooky. His rosary, and while his frosted breath. Come away, O human child! Men fled before the flying twain or shrank with bated breath And they saw on the face of Adam Brand the seal set there by death. Down along the rocky shore Some make their home They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake With frogs for their watchdogs All night awake. 'Tis but a little space And the time will come when these shall dread The mem'ry of your face. I wish you'd go to Mr. P. And save me such a ride; I don't half like the outside place They've took for my inside. Don't skip ahead, or you'll ruin it. Through the open doors The harmless phantoms on their errands glide With feet that make no sound upon the floors. I thought the last of all my cares Would end with my last minute; But though I went to my long home I didn't stay long in it. This is another one that gets you in the very last line. All rights reserved. To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. We are friends of him whom you hold within And we fain would take him away, From those who ride fast on our heels With mind to do him wrong; They have no care for his innocence And the rope they bear is long.". So take a deep breath, steady your nerves, and then click on a poem of your choice. And with strange motions, slow and stiff pointed at Adam Brand And clambered down the gibbet tree the noose within its hand. The air resounds with tuneful notes From myriads of straining throats All hailing Folly Queen; So join the swelling choral throng Forget your sorrow and your wrong In one glad hour of joyous song To honor Hallowe'en! I am but a little maiden still My little white feet are sore. His lips were writhed in a horrid grin like a fiend's on Satan's coals,And the men that looked on his face that day, his stare still haunts their souls.Such was the fate of Adam Brand, a strange, unearthly fate;For stronger than death or hempen noose are the fires of a dead man's hate. See how he hangs high on the gallows tree!" We do lie beneath the grass In the moonlight, in the shade Of the yew-tree. The Phoenix and the Turtle. I bent me down to hear his sigh; I shook with his gurgling moan And I trembled sore when they rode away And left him here alone. The spirit-world around this world of sense Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere Wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense A vital breath of more ethereal air. This is not that poetry. Read More. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake On a bed of fig-leaves Watching till she wake. Who knows, indeed ... And yet To me, when nights are weird and wet Without those comrades there at tryst Creeping slowly, creeping sadly That lone lane does not exist. In Town she dwelt:- forsaken stood the Hall: Worms ate the floors, the tapestry fled the wall: No fire the kitchens cheerless grate displayed;No cheerful light the long-closed sash conveyed;The crawling worm, that turns a summer-fly,Here spun his shroud and laid him up to dieThe winter-death:- upon the bed of sate,The bat shrill-shrieking wooed his flickering mate;To empty rooms the curious came no more,From empty cellars turned the angry poor,And surly beggars cursed the ever-bolted door. When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead And that thou think'st thee free From all solicitation from me Then shall my ghost come to thy bed And thee, feign'd vestal, in worse arms shall see; Then thy sick taper will begin to wink And he, whose thou art then, being tir'd before Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think Thou call'st for more And in false sleep will from thee shrink; And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou Bath'd in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie A verier ghost than I. ", "And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see And her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree When the footstep of death is near.". he said. His lips were writhed in a horrid grin like a fiend's on Satan's coals And the men that looked on his face that day his stare still haunts their souls. He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright Quick over its surface play'd - "Welcome," he said, "my dear one's light!" "For the dim regions whence my fathers cameMy spirit, bondaged by the body, longs.Words felt, but never heard, my lips would frame;My soul would sing forgotten jungle songs. Suddenly night crushed out the day and hurled Her remnants over cloud-peaks, thunder-walled. Come away, O human child! See how he hangs high on the gallows tree! Such was the fate of Adam Brand a strange, unearthly fate; For stronger than death or hempen noose are the fires of a dead man's hate. This one is creepy because of a monster. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with the music On cold starry nights To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights. 2020 Bustle Digital Group. No time is this for tear or sob Or other woes our joys to rob But time for Pippin and for Bob And Jack-o'-lantern gay. And ever the man he rides me hard And never a night stays he; For I feel his curse as a haunted bough On the trunk of a haunted tree. Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! The City is of Night, but not of Sleep; There sweet sleep is not for the weary brain; The pitiless hours like years and ages creep A night seems termless hell. Take your time reading this one. And the storm is fast descending And yet I cannot go. And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake And the copper-snake breath'd in his ear Till he starting cried, from his dream awake "Oh! Pray why are you so bare, so bare Oh, bough of the old oak-tree; And why, when I go through the shade you throw Runs a shudder over me? Harpier cries "'Tis time, 'tis time.". A poem grounded in the horrors of mental illness, by an iconic writer. "Tis proven here a hempen noose is stronger than man's hate! Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. And the Moon that night, With a grey, cold light Each baleful object tips; One half of her form, Is seen through the storm The other half's hid in Eclipse!And the cold wind howls, And the Thunder growls And the Lightning is broad and bright; And altogether, It's very bad weather And an unpleasant sort of a night! my everlasting peace Is broken into pieces. Now first, as I shut the door I was alone In the new house; and the wind Began to moan. The loud wind never reached the ship Yet now the ship moved on! You be the judge. "I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;I lift my lids and all is born again. All day I watch, And never a blade of all the green sod moves. They play with our minds and leave us stunned and confused. They leave all hope behind who enter there: One certitude while sane they cannot leave One anodyne for torture and despair; The certitude of Death, which no reprieve Can put off long; and which, divinely tender But waits the outstretched hand to promptly render That draught whose slumber nothing can bereave. (I think I made you up inside my head.). O Queen of air and darkness I think 'tis truth you say And I shall die tomorrow; But you will die to-day. But I'll be yours in death, altho' Sir Astley has my heart. The storme will arise And trouble the skies; This night, and more for the wonder The ghost from the Tomb Affrighted shall come Cal'd out by the clap of the Thunder. There are poems about ghosts and witches, spirits and spectres, dead men coming back to avenge themselves upon the living, and numerous other nefarious and creepy scenarios. Then Adam shrieked like a soul in hell; the red blood left his faceAnd he reeled away in a drunken run through the screaming market place;And close behind, the dead man came with a face like a mummy's mask,And the dead joints cracked and the stiff legs creaked with their unwonted task. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep If slumber his eyelids knew He lay where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear and nightly steep The flesh with blistering dew! Each one whom Life exiled I named and called. I live in a house with no windowsI live in a house that's now yoursIt's my voice you think that you're hearingfor I died in this room with no doors. 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain Which to their corses came again But a troop of spirits blest: For when it dawned - they dropped their arms And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths And from their bodies passed. And what is the spur that keeps the pace What is the galling goad? There they seem brooding on their pain And will, while such a lane remain. And with strange motions, slow and stiff, pointed at Adam BrandAnd clambered down the gibbet tree, the noose within its hand.With gaping mouth stood Adam Brand like a statue carved of stone,Till the dead man laid a clammy hand hard on his shoulder bone. St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was! For heard ye not John Farrel's vow to be avenged upon meCome life or death? The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow. Come forth, ye lass and trousered kid From prisoned mischief raise the lid And lift it good and high Leave grave old Wisdom in the lurch Set folly on a lofty perch Nor fear the awesome rod of birch When dawn illumes the sky.

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