So many ghosts, and forms of fright,
Have started from their graves to-night,
They have driven sleep read more

So many ghosts, and forms of fright,
Have started from their graves to-night,
They have driven sleep from mine eyes away;
I will go down to the chapel and pray.

What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

My people too were scared with eerie sounds,
A footstep, a low throbbing in the walls.
A read more

My people too were scared with eerie sounds,
A footstep, a low throbbing in the walls.
A noise of falling weights that never fell,
Weird whispers, bells that rang without a hand,
Door-handles turn'd when none was at the door,
And bolted doors that open'd of themselves;
And one betwixt the dark and light had seen
Her, bending by the cradle of her babe.

There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.

There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.

All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear,
All intellect, all sense, and as they please
read more

All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear,
All intellect, all sense, and as they please
They limb themselves, and colour, shape, or size,
Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare.

Thin, airy shoals of visionary ghosts.

Thin, airy shoals of visionary ghosts.

Who gather round, and wonder at the tale
Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly,
That walks at read more

Who gather round, and wonder at the tale
Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly,
That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand
O'er some new-open'd grave; and, (strange to tell!)
Evanishes at crowing of the cock.

I look for ghosts; but none will force
Their way to me; 'tis falsely said
That even read more

I look for ghosts; but none will force
Their way to me; 'tis falsely said
That even there was intercourse
Between the living and the dead.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
read more

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.