Where yonder grasses twine,
A pleasant bed, my maid, that children call a grave,
In the cold moonshine.
Is that the wind? No, no;
Only two devils, that blow
Through the murderer's ribs to and fro,
In the ghosts' moonshine.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Where yonder grasses twine,
A pleasant bed, my maid, that children call a grave,
In the cold moonshine.
Is that the wind? No, no;
Only two devils, that blow
Through the murderer's ribs to and fro,
In the ghosts' moonshine.
written by Thomas Lovell Beddoes
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