The children scream and rush inside the house To huddle in a group with bated breath; And old wives cross themselves and talk of death And vampires following the flying mouse That haunts the twilight sky. They call their men Who arm themselves for battle with this foe, A ghostly battle in their minds and then They talk of witches as they dodge and throw. A scrap of bleeding velvet tries to wing Its way into the darkened belfry, where A weazened silken infant lies, a thing Of pity calling: "Mother . . . Mother!" there. They found her dead beside a churchyard tree, Her swollen breasts with wings veiled womanly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY MYRTLE [MIRTLE] by WILLIAM BLAKE ULTIMA THULE: NIGHT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNET: 21 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL INSTEAD OF TEARS by JOSEPH AUSLANDER VERSES, SUGGESTED BY THE FUNERAL OF AN EPITAPH IN BURY CHURCH-YARD by BERNARD BARTON BODY AND SOUL: A METAPHYSICAL ARGUMENT by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |