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Editor's Selection of Poems
Ghost Raddled

by Robert Graves

"Come, surly fellow, come! A song!" 
What, madmen? Sing to you? 
Choose from the clouded tales of wrong 
And terror I bring to you. 


Of a night so torn with cries, 
Honest men sleeping 
Start awake with glaring eyes, 
Bone-chilled, flesh creeping. 


Of spirits in the web hung room 
Up above the stable, 
Groans, knockings in the gloom, 
The dancing table. 


Of demons in the dry well 
That cheep and mutter, 
Clanging of an unseen bell, 
Blood choking the gutter. 


Of lust frightful, past belief, 
Lurking unforgotten, 
Unrestrainable endless grief 
From breasts long rotten. 


A song? What laughter or what song 
Can this house remember? 
Do flowers and butterflies belong 
To a blind December? 
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