Sonnet I: Death

Within the misted shrouds of Erin’s dark
And fertile land–so dark, the magic there–
The Lady courseth through the land and air
Where no man shall her baneful music hark.

Yet keens’ she still to heather and to lark;
Her soul, still toucheth, frighteningly fair
As dark, her opalescent, raven, hair.
But now, stand solemn cairns of stone who mark

The bed of earth where she hath lain to rest.
And dreameth, ominous, as given life,
Her gift of fearsome song, and of her man;
From death he craveth comfort of her breast.

Who feeleth still, where ere he drifts’; the land
He toucheth, dark, as with her spirit rife.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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8 responses to “Sonnet I: Death

    • Thank you for your considered and kind words.

      This was one in response to a plea for “something spooky.” This one and its companions are the result. There is, particularly in English literature, but certainly in all cultures, to one degree or another, a tradition of ghost stories. These may be very scary or simply vexing, but are not to be confused with “horror,” which is a different thing altogether.

      There was a film some years ago–not too many I think–I believe it was called “The Outsiders.” It really is a good old fashioned, traditional English ghost story. Still it is quite scary.

      In any case, this sequence of sonnets might be called a “ghost story” of sorts–rendered in poetic form. I enjoyed writing it.

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    • Ah yes! “The Others!” that is the one. Regarding the Celtic harp suggestion, you may not fully realise this, but I always give your suggestions a fair bit of consideration, and almost always take them or implement them in some way…

      (eventually : )

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  1. Pingback: Parting,a sonnet « How my heart speaks

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