HAXAN Leftovers

Up o'er the hill and broken wall

There stole a weird form, bent but tall;

And softly through our unlatched door

She crept unbidden, and before

The hearth-fire crouching, gazed upon us all.

- George Houghton 

Poem here.

The Witches Of York

"Black still and clover: in a one
A coffin; now third deal, and done.
Hearts six, and dabbled o'er with red:
Within that space thy wooer dead;
Spades seven: to thee are left seven years to run."

- George Houghton

 Image by Chris.

Poem here.