The hallway-clock’s ticking and the pendulum’s sticking
& the ravens are barring the door
with their sharp claws they’re tapping – one might call it rapping –
but maven of Morse I can’t claim
My only true aim – though I know it for vain –
to escape someplace safe ere night’s fall,
for the darkness does bring, to every window and mirror,
the ghost of each girl I’ve ever offered a ring
So despite the stair-creaking I’m courageously sneaking
& subtly peeking up into the gloom of the hall
where a silhouette stands in veil and gown
as the sun climbs down to the ground
“Good heavens, my dear!” I say, full of fear,
for though I oft see this specter, I never expect her.
“You ought to move on, to the next realm or beau,
for our song, though ’twas catchy, I know,
did reach its last chorus long ago.”
The shade doesn’t linger – with a translucent finger
she traces a line on her throat
& I hope against hope, as she fades away
that this time she’ll cave, & go catch the boat
now I light up my torch & look down to the porch
where the ravens are starting to scream
so I close up the blinds, avoiding the eyes
of the wraiths that emerge from the floors
I say, “Truly, I’m sorry, this seems a fine party,
but I’ve a previous engagement upstairs.”
& as they all clatter their castanet-jaws,
I utter my adieus and depart
To the attic I flee, as close behind me
is a horror of lace and blood dripping
& I bolt up the door, and light the sage-candles
as the handle is rattled away
Now I sit down to write, despite all my fright
& though under my feet I feel something beat
& there’s skittering out in the hall,
still must I attend to my tablet and pen
for odes don’t compose themselves