Haunted House


See the house : how grim it stands

In its lonely solitude !

Feel the ghostly clammy hands

Repelling you

From the hermit’s old abode,

And telling you,

With its frowning windows high

And its sombre oaken door,

Telling you as you pass by

Of the cruel days of yore.


See the trees ; how gaunt they spire

Swaying, moaning in the wind,

Like a sad neglected choir.

All is dead, and in the mind


There the horned moon behind

Rises like a spectral bow

Over the black Mount Barool ;

Here the cattle’s plaintive low

Sounds like cries of graveless ghoul

Aged and rotten.


There so sombre in the light

Of the moon and cold stars bright,

There the setting of some plight

Much too gruesome to recite –

There opposed to all that’s right –

There the scene of hate and spite,

Nameless terror, loathing, fright,

And of orgiastic rite.


When you pass the mansion near

Let no sob come, weep no tear.

Hurry by lest waiting hate

Lure you through the iron gate.

Leave behind this haunted place

To oblivion and disgrace.

Let its sightless windows be

Sunk into obscurity !


Mona’s Herald     19.2.63