THE table hurled itself, to our surprise, At Lingard, and anon rapped eagerly: "When earth is cold and there is no more sea, There will be what was Lingard. Otherwise, Why lure the race to ruin through the skies? And why have Leffingwell, or Calverly?"-- "I wish the ghost would give his name," said he; And searching gratitude was in his eyes. He stood then by the window for a time, And only after the last midnight chime Smote the day dead did he say anything: "Come out, my little one, the stars are bright; Come out, you laelaps, and inhale the night." And so he went away with Clavering. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THRENODY FOR A BROWN GIRL by COUNTEE CULLEN A SERMON AT CLEVEDON; GOOD FRIDAY by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 1 by EZRA POUND THE BRITISH PHILIPPIC by MARK AKENSIDE ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 11 by RICHARD BARNFIELD |