As for my feet, the little feet You used to call so pretty There's one, I know, in Bedford Row The t'other's in the City. I am but a little maiden still My little white feet are sore. And the storm is fast descending And yet I cannot go. Don't go to weep upon my grave And think that there I be; They haven't left an atom there Of my anatomie. I have walked a great while over the snow. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882). The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow. O 'tis a fearful thing to be no more;Or if to be, to wander after death;To walk as Spirits do, in Brakes all day;And when the darkness comesto glide in pathsThat lead to graves: and in the silent Vault,Where lyes your own pale shrowd,to hover o'er it,Striving to enter your forbidden Corps;And often, often, vainly breathe your GhostInto your lifeless lips. We meet them at the door-way, on the stair Along the passages they come and go Impalpable impressions on the air A sense of something moving to and fro. © (1997) Richard Jones All rights reserved. (Dark Poems regularly added below) Dark poetry is all about visiting a world where so many fear to tread. See more ideas about Scary witch, Scary, Witch. Ensure that some suitably creepy music is playing softly in the background, and then start reading the poems aloud in a low, dramatic voice. "Yet never a word the people spoke, in fear and wild surprise-For the grisly corpse raised up its head and stared with sightless eyes. On the lone bleak moor, at the midnight hour Beneath the Gallows Tree Hand in hand, The Murderers stand By one, by two, or three! Listen below, and see what I mean. Then Adam shrieked like a soul in hell; the red blood left his faceAnd he reeled away in a drunken run through the screaming market place;And close behind, the dead man came with a face like a mummy's mask,And the dead joints cracked and the stiff legs creaked with their unwonted task. This is one of my favorite scary poems. 'Tis but a little space And the time will come when these shall dread The mem'ry of your face. Something in me is lost, forever lost,Some vital thing has gone out of my heart,And I must walk the way of life a ghostAmong the sons of earth, a thing apart;For I was born, far from my native clime,Under the white manâs menace, out of time.". ", "Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend I loved you for life, but life has an end; Through sickness I was ready to tend: But death mars all, which we cannot mend. ", "Indeed I loved you; I love you yet If you will stay where your bed is set Where I have planted a violet Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet. Poetry can make an excellent mood setter for your ghostly gatherings, and below you will find some really atmospheric and spooky poems to get your Halloween celebrations well and truly underway. Now first, as I shut the door I was alone In the new house; and the wind Began to moan. Who knows, indeed ... And yet To me, when nights are weird and wet Without those comrades there at tryst Creeping slowly, creeping sadly That lone lane does not exist. The pair seemed lovers, yet absorbed In mental scenes no longer orbed By love's young rays. ", "From the other world I come back to you My locks are uncurled with dripping drenching dew. And with strange motions, slow and stiff pointed at Adam Brand And clambered down the gibbet tree the noose within its hand. Her strong enchantments failing Her towers of fear in wreck Her limbecks dried of poisons And the knife at her neck, The Queen of air and darkness Begins to shrill and cry "O young man, O my slayer To-morrow you shall die.". These poems aren't all about monsters and death. Still, painfully real today. "They hanged John Farrel in the dawn amid the marketplace;At dusk came Adam Brand to him and spat upon his face. ", "And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see And her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree When the footstep of death is near.". What I will say, I will not tell thee now Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent I'had rather thou shouldst painfully repent Than by my threat'nings rest still innocent. All rights reserved. We have no title-deeds to house or lands; Owners and occupants of earlier dates From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands And hold in mortmain still their old estates. They took her lightly back Between the night and morrow They thought that she was fast asleep But she was dead with sorrow. It might sound a little scary to young children. (I think I made you up inside my head.). Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. Come away, O human child! By Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1861 - 1907). I live in a house with no windowsand sleep in a room with no heat.The darkness of life that surrounds meKeeps out the sounds of the street. You be the judge. Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door! There are poems about ghosts and witches, spirits and spectres, dead men coming back to avenge themselves upon the living, and numerous other nefarious and creepy scenarios.