Explore "Ghost Stories" by Madison Cawein on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill, / At twelve o'clock when the night is still, / And pale on the pools, where the creek-frogs croon, / Glimmering gray is the light o' the moon; / And under the willows, where waters lie, / The torch of the firefly wanders by; / They say that the miller walks here, walks here, / All covered with chaff, with his crooked staff, / And his horrible hobble and hideous laugh; / The old lame miller hung many a year: / When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill, / He walks alone by the rotting mill.
When the bark of the fox comes over the hill, / At twelve o'clock when the night is shrill, / And faint, on the ways where the crickets creep, / The starlight fails and the shadows sleep; / And under the willows, that toss and moan, / The glow-worm kindles its lanthorn lone; / They say that a woman floats dead, floats dead, / In a weedy space that the lilies lace, / A curse in her eyes and a smile on her face, / The miller's young wife with a gash in her head: / When the bark of the fox comes over the hill, / She floats alone by the rotting mill.