I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair. Along the wharves by the water-house, And through the dripping slaughter-house, I am the shadow that walks there. Yes I have flesh both firm and cool, And eyes tumultuous as gems Of moons and lamps in the lapping Thames When dusk sails wavering down the pool. Shuddering the purple streets are burns Where I watch always; from the banks Dolorously the shipping clanks, And after me a strange tide turns. I walk till the stars of London wane And dawn creeps up the Shadwell Stair. But when the crowing syrens blare I wish another ghost am lain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLES BORED IN A WORKBAG BY THE SCISSORS by MARIANNE MOORE TO A THESAURUS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE CONFIDENT SCIENTIST by ALEXIS THE GLEN by JOHN BROWN (1810-1882) CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |