Ghost Raddled by Robert Graves — Read

"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?