THEY tell me (but I really can't Imagine such a rum thing), IT is the phantom of my Aunt, Who ran away -- or something. IT is the very worst of bores: (My Aunt was most delightful). IT prowls about the corridors, And utters noises frightful. At midnight through the rooms IT glides, Behaving very coolly, Our hearts all throb against our sides -- The lights are burning bluely. The lady, in her living hours, Was the most charming vixen That ever this poor sex of ours Delighted to play tricks on. Yes, that's her portrait on the wall, In quaint old-fangled bodice: Her eyes are blue -- her waist is small -- A ghost! Pooh, pooh, -- a goddess! A fine patrician shape, to suit My dear old father's sister -- Lips softly curved, a dainty foot: Happy the man that kissed her! Light hair of crisp irregular curl Over fair shoulders scattered -- Egad, she was a pretty girl, Unless Sir Thomas flattered! And who the deuce, in these bright days, Could possibly expect her To take to dissipated ways, And plague us as a spectre? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FRUIT GARDEN PATH by AMY LOWELL ALL RELIGIONS ARE ONE by WILLIAM BLAKE THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 17. A LOVER'S PLEA by THOMAS CAMPION A STRANGE MEETING by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES GOOD-BY AND KEEP COLD by ROBERT FROST L'ENVOI: THE RETURN OF THE SIRE DE NESLE, A.D. 16 - by HERMAN MELVILLE THE LONELY CHILD by JAMES OPPENHEIM |