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    The Haunted Hour: An Anthology
    The Haunted Hour: An Anthology
    The Haunted Hour: An Anthology
    Ebook260 pages2 hours

    The Haunted Hour: An Anthology

    By Margaret Widdemer

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    The Haunted Hour: An Anthology

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      Book preview

      The Haunted Hour - Margaret Widdemer

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Haunted Hour, by Various

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: The Haunted Hour

      An Anthology

      Author: Various

      Editor: Margaret Widdemer

      Release Date: December 5, 2005 [EBook #17229]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAUNTED HOUR ***

      Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Stacy Brown Thellend, and

      the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at

      http://www.pgdp.net

      THE HAUNTED HOUR

      An Anthology

      COMPILED BY

      MARGARET WIDDEMER

      NEW YORK

      HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE

      1920

      COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY

      HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE, INC.

      THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY

      RAHWAY, N. J.

      COPYRIGHT NOTICE

      For the use of the copyrighted material included in this volume permission has been secured either from the author or his authorized publishers. All rights in these poems are reserved by the holders of the copyright, or the authorized publishers, as named below:

      To George H. Doran Co. for the poems of Joyce Kilmer and May Byron.

      To Doubleday, Page & Co. and Rudyard Kipling for Mr. Kipling's The Looking-Glass.

      To E. P. Dutton & Co. for Helen Gray Cone's Blockhouse on the Hill, from her A Chant of Love for England.

      To Harper & Bros. for the poems of Arthur Guiterman, Don Marquis, and Don C. Seitz.

      To Henry Holt and Co. for the poems of Francis Carlin, Walter De La Mare, Louis Untermeyer, and Margaret Widdemer.

      To Houghton Mifflin Co. for Anna Hempstead Branch's Such Are the Souls in Purgatory from Heart of the Road, the poems of Henry W. Longfellow, Nathan Haskell Dole's Russian Fantasy, Amy Lowell's Haunted from Pictures of the Floating World, May Kendall's A Legend.

      To Mitchell Kennerley for the poems of Theodosia Garrison, Dora Sigerson Shorter, and Edna St. Vincent Millay.

      To John Lane Co. for the poems of Rosamund Marriott Watson, Winifred Letts, A. E. Housman's True Lover, Nora Hopper's Far Away Country, Marjorie Pickthall's Mary Shepherdess.

      To the Macmillan Co. for W. B. Yeats' Folk o' the Air, and John Masefield's Cape Horn Gospel.

      To Thomas Bird Mosher for Edith M. Thomas's The Passer-By from Flower from the Ashes.

      To Frederick A. Stokes Co. for The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes.

      To Charles Scribner's Sons for Josephine Daskam Bacon's Little Dead Child.

      To Rose de Vaux Royer for Madison Cawein's Ghosts.

      To the Saturday Evening Post for Grantland Rice's Ghosts of the Argonne.

      I have to thank the following authors for express personal permission: Josephine Daskam Bacon, Anna Hempstead Branch, Francis Carlin, Helen Gray Cone, Nathan Haskell Dole, Theodosia Garrison, Arthur Guiterman, Minna Irving, Aline Kilmer, Katherine Tynan Hinkson, Winifred Letts, Amy Lowell, Don Marquis, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Ruth Comfort Mitchell, Marjorie L. C. Pickthall, Lizette Woodworth Reese, Grantland Rice, Edwin Arlington Robinson, Robert Haven Schauffler, Don C. Seitz, Clement Shorter (for Dora Sigerson Shorter), Edith M. Thomas, Louis Untermeyer, and William Butler Yeats.

      PREFACE

      This does not attempt to be an inclusive anthology. The ghostly poetry of the late war alone would have made a book as large as this; and an inclusive scheme would have ended as a six-volume Encyclopedia of Ghostly Verse. I hope that this may be called for some day. The present book has been held to the conventional limits of the type of small anthology which may be read without weariness (I hope) by the exclusion not only of many long and dreary ghost-poems, but many others which it was very hard to leave out.

      I have not considered as ghost-poems anything but poems which related to the return of spirits to earth. Thus The Blessed Damozel, a poem of spirits in heaven, La Belle Dame Sans Merci, whose heroine may be a fairy or witch, and whose ghosts are presented in dream only, do not belong in this classification; nor do such poems as Mathilde Blind's lovely sonnet, The Dead Are Ever with Us, class as ghost-poems; for in these the dead are living in ourselves in a half-metaphorical sense. If a poem would be a ghost-story, in short, I have considered it a ghost-poem, not otherwise.

      In this connection I wish to thank Mabel Cleland Ludlum for her unwearied and intelligent assistance with the selection and compilation of the book; and Aline Kilmer for help in its revision and arrangement.

      Margaret Widdemer.

      CONTENTS

      THE HAUNTED HOUR

      THE FAR AWAY COUNTRY

      NORA HOPPER CHESSON

      Far away's the country where I desire to go,

      Far away's the country where the blue roses grow,

      Far away's the country and very far away,

      And who would travel thither must go 'twixt night and day.

      Far away's the country, and the seas are wild

      That you must voyage over, grown man or chrisom child,

      O'er leagues of land and water a weary way you'll go

      Before you'll find the country where the blue roses grow.

      But O, and O, the roses are very strange and fair,

      You'd travel far to see them, and one might die to wear,

      Yet, far away's the country, and perilous the sea,

      And some may think far fairer the red rose on her tree.

      Far away's the country, and strange the way to fare,

      Far away's the country—O would that I were there!

      It's on and on past Whinny Muir and over Brig o' Dread.

      And you shall pluck blue roses the day that you are dead.

      THE NICHT ATWEEN THE SANCTS AN' SOULS

      ALL-SOULS: KATHERINE TYNAN

      The door of Heaven is on the latch

      To-night, and many a one is fain

      To go home for one night's watch

      With his love again.

      Oh, where the father and mother sit

      There's a drift of dead leaves at the door

      Like pitter-patter of little feet

      That come no more.

      Their thoughts are in the night and cold,

      Their tears are heavier than the clay,

      But who is this at the threshold

      So young and gay?

      They are come from the land o' the young,

      They have forgotten how to weep;

      Words of comfort on the tongue,

      And a kiss to keep.

      They sit down and they stay awhile,

      Kisses and comfort none shall lack;

      At morn they steal forth with a smile

      And a long look back.

      ALL-SAINTS' EVE: LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE

      Oh, when the ghosts go by,

      Under the empty trees,

      Here in my house I sit and cry,

      My head upon my knees!

      Innumerable, white,

      Like mist they fill the square;

      The bolt is drawn, the latch made tight,

      The shutter barréd there.

      There walks one small and glad,

      New to the churchyard clod;

      My little lad, my little lad,

      A single year with God!

      I sit and hide my head

      Until they all are past,

      Under the empty trees the dead

      That go full soft and fast.

      Up to my chamber dim,

      Back to my bed I plod;

      Oh, would I were a ghost with him,

      And faring back to God!

      A DREAM: WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

      I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night;

      I went to the window to see the sight;

      All the dead that ever I knew

      Going one by one and two by two.

      On they pass'd and on they pass'd;

      Townsfellows all, from first to last;

      Born in the moonlight of the lane,

      Quench'd in the heavy shadow again.

      Schoolmates, marching as when they play'd

      At soldiers once—but now more staid;

      Those were the strangest sight to me

      Who were drown'd, I knew, in the open sea.

      Straight and handsome folk, bent and weak, too;

      Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to;

      Some but a day in their churchyard bed;

      Some that I had not known were dead.

      A long long crowd—where each seem'd lonely,

      Yet of them all there was one, one only,

      Raised a head or looked my way;

      She linger'd a moment—she might not stay.

      How long since I saw that fair pale face!

      Ah! Mother dear! might I only place

      My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,

      While thy hand on my tearful cheek were press'd!

      On, on, a moving bridge they made

      Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade,

      Young and old, women and men;

      Many long-forgot, but remember'd then,

      And

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