Tuesday, July 21, 2015

All Souls

A thin moon faints in the sky o’erhead,
And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.
Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,
Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,
But forth of the gate and down the road,
Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.
For it’s turn of the year and All Souls’ night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.

Edith Wharton

Image by Giles Watson.


Jay's Shadow said...

Cool poem.

Vintage Seance said...

Love this!

Adam said...

beautiful stuff. now hurry up October!

girl6 said...

ohhhhh wOw..love this, got me longing for Larry Talbot..<333