 Proam by Madison Cawine, read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. Not while I live may I forget that garden which my spirit trod, where dreams were flowers wild and wet and beautiful as God. Not while I breathe awake a dream shall live again for me those hours when in its mystery and gleam I met her mid the flowers. Eyes talismanic heliotrope beneath mesmeric lashes where the sorceries of love and hope had made a shining layer, and day-down brows whereover hung the twilight of dark locks, while birds her lips that spoke the rose's tongue in fragrance-valued words. I will not speak of cheeks and chin that held me as sweet language holds, nor of the eloquence within her breast twin-mooneted molds, nor of her body's languorous wind-grace that glanced like starlight through her clinging robes' diaphanous web of mist and dew. There is no star so pure and high as was her look, no fragrance such as her soft presence, and no sigh of music like her touch. Not while I live may I forget that garden of dim dreams where I and song within the spirit met sweet song who passed me by. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Haunted by Madison Cowain Read for LibriVox.org by Nikalia Schwartz Without a moon when night comes on there is a sighing in its trees as of sad lips that no one sees and the far dwindling forest large beyond fenced fields seems shadowy drawn into its shadows faint and won by the wisteriaed portico stealing I go through gardens where the weeds are rank where here and there in clump and bank spireas rise whose dotted blooms seem clustered starlight and the four syringes sweet heap powdered o'er thin flower beakers of perfumes and the dead flowering almond tree that once was pink as her young cheek now withered leans within the glooms why must I walk here seek and seek her long since gone still bower on bower the roses climb and blushing flower ah mid the roses could I see her eyes her sad eyes shine like flowers or like the dew that lies for hours within their hearts then it might be I might find comfort here although wistful as if reproaching me her sad eyes look saying what none may know when midnight comes it brings a moon a scent is strewn of honey and wild thorns broadcast beneath the stars when I have passed under dark cedars solemn pines through daughter drowned petunias cornflower and the columbine to where azaleas choked with grass and peonies like great wisps shine I reach banked honeysuckle vines piled deep and trampled with the gourd and morning glory one wild horde of rich aroma where the seat the rustic bench where oft we sat now warped and old with rain and heat still stands upon its mossy mat and here I rest and then a word I seem to hear a soft word whispered in my ear her voice it seems no thing is near I look around I have but heard the plaintive note of some lost bird trickle through night awakened where beneath its thick layer of twisted twigs the jarring and incessant griggs hum dream drugged so the haunted air makes all my soul as heavy as dew poppied grass once when the moon rose fair and full like some sea scene hasbury and pool a splash of gold through tangling trees or like the island beautiful of avalan in haunted seas there came a sighing in the trees as of sad lips there was no breeze and yet sad sighings shook the trees and when all in a mystic space her orb swam amiable white right in that shattered casement by the broken porch the creepers lace born of a moonbeam and a sigh I saw her face pale through a mist of tears so slight so immaterial ah me impensiveness and vanished grace to as like an olden melody I know long angled on its floors where windows face the anxious east the moonshine pours white squares of glitter and at least gives glimmer to its whispering halls its corridors sleep tapestry'd her gold with bars of moonlight by its wasted walls crouch shadows and where streaked dusts lay there undisturbed deep gray upon its stairs dim vision-footed glide faint gossamer gleams like visible sighs as to and fro a thwart the skies wind swung against the moon outside the twisted branches sway of one great tree I stand below and listen now hearing a murmur come and go through its gnarled boughs remembering how shady this chestnut made her room and sweet in June with plumes of bloom and how the broad and gusty flues of the old house sang when the rain let loose its winds and each flu seemed a horse sonorous throat filled with the storm's wild boom and growled carousel goblin tunes the highless pipe to rainy moons of March or in the afternoons of summer singing in their course where blossoms drip all wet of back the crickets drone in avenues of locusts leading to the gate and in the dark here where I wait me seems I hear the silence creep and crepitate from hall to hall as one in sleep I hear yet hear not feel that there her soul walks waking on each stair strange echoes and the stealthy crack of old and warping floors I seem to follow her and in a dream to see yet see not in the black that drapes each room my mind informs with shapes that hide behind each door and fling from closets phantom arms I see her face as once before bewildered with its terror pressed to the dark polished floor distressed clasped in her blind and covering hands so desolate with anguish wrenched with wild remorse no man could see could see and turn away like me no man that season understands love and its mortal agony again like some automaton part of that ghostly tragedy myself I see the fool who fled who sneered and fled and then again came stealing back again with blenched and bending face I stand and clenched and icy hands and staring eyes looking upon her face as one as water eyes all wide with pain cramped to dilation packed with loss again I seem to lean across the years and hear my heart's deep groan above the young gold of her head above that huddled heap alone her white and dead yes there is a moan of lamentation and hushed screams in all its crannies and sad shades haunt all its rooms the moonlight braids with melancholy slow have flown the weary years and I have known an anguish and remorse far worse than usual lives and live it seems because to live is but a curse there she lies buried there that ground gated with rusty iron where she and her stench forefathers sleep so old the turf scarce shows a mound so gray you scarce distinguish there a headstone where the ivies creep and myrtles bloom a wall of stone squares it around a place for dreams a mossy spot of sorrow lone nay lonelier wilder now it seems though just the same its roses waste their petals there as oft of yore their placid petals as before pale pensive petals yonder some life faint as puffs of foam within the moonlight dimly traced beneath the boughs some fewer strone on the usurping weeds great groan around her tomb on which two dead leaves lie here let my sick heart break and die amid their wiltings on her grave here in her dim old berry and ground the druid cedars guard around and roses and wild thorns alone she shall not lie ah let me moan my life out here where rose leaves fall and rest by her who was my all end of poem this recording is in the public domain the elixir of love by madison cowing read for libra fox dot org by phone he held it possible that he who idolizes one that's dead with that strange liquid instantly might raise them living red and so he thought his mind at last to live and love the love that's passed the joy without the grief and pain the dead shall live and love again for he had loved one till for him her face had grown his spirit part though then she seemed to him less dim than men in street and mart he labored on for truth to say in toil alone his pleasure lay his art through which sometime he thought back to his arms she would be brought he kept such trists as phantoms keep pale distances about his soul and moved like one who walks asleep attaining no sure goal yet blithered in a younger heart at crucible and gloss retort he labored for his love was prism to irritate toil's egoism he drained one drafts from out a cup a globe of vague and flaming gold held from the darkness brimming up by something white and cold at wreath's faint fingers round his brim slim flakes of foam and soft and dim stooped out of fiery bound abysses to print his brow with icy kisses at last within his trembling hand an ancient flask burnt starry rose a liquid flame of ruby phant heartlike with crimson throes and in the liquid like a flower a starlike face bloomed for an hour then slowly faded to a skull with eyes that mocked the beautiful though all his life had been so strange yet stranger now it seemed to be what was it led him forth to range midgraves and mystery what led him to that one dim tomb where he could read within the gloom the name of one who lay within with all of silence not of sin untainted so it seemed and made by death's cold kisses still more fair he found her raised her softly laid her raven depths of hair upon his shoulder and the pearls around her neck and inner curls less pale were than the kingly calm upon his face that showed no qualm and through the night beneath the moon across the windy hill the gloom of forests where leaves laced room he brought her to his room and in the awfulness of death that filled her wide eyes with its breath he said her in a carbon chair where the still moon could kiss her hair one moment then he paused to think then to her lips all drawn and dead his strange elixir pressed and drink drink life and love he said and it it drank the dead drank slow and in its eyes there came a glow yet still a stone its body safe with eyes of hell and lips of hate still as fall frozen ice its face and thin its voice as drizzled rain when in its rotting silk and lace it rose and lived again its bosom moved not while it spake nor moved its lips and half awake its eyes seemed with enchanted sleep a century long in night's old keep and stooping or it whispered low a sound like a vibrating wire or like the hiss of falling snow in fluttering's faint fire in me behold you see your toil in me your love a thing to coil around your life thus make and tire the demon of your dead desire and where before was quietness was violence of hate and evil yet all its form seemed passionless a corpse that held a devil but who shall say the hands were it's that made within his throat these pits they found him dead and by him one who clasped him close a skeleton end of poem this recording is in the public domain gloramone by madison kawaii read for libravox.org by larry wilson the moon beams on the holly's glow pale where she left me and the snow lies bleak in the moonshine on the graves ribbed with each gust that shakes and waves ancestral cedars by her tomb she lay so beautiful in death my gloramone whose loveliness death had not dimmed with all its doom that urged by my divine distress I sought her supplecur the gloom the iciness that takes the breath the sense of fear were not too strong to keep me from beholding long I stole into it sorrow burst with what I know was hand accursed it sealed the gated silence of her old armorial tomb but love had sighed sweet romance to my heart and here I thought another part our souls would play I did not start with indistinctness of pale lips breathed on my hair faint fingertips fluttered their starlight on my brow when on my eyes I knew not whence vague kisses fell then like a vow within my heart an aching sense of vampire winning and I heard her name slow syllables a word of haunting harmony and then low whispered thou at last tis thou and sighs of shadowy lips again how madly strange that this should be for had she loved me here on earth it had not then been marvelous that she should now remember me returning love for love though worthless yes far less to both of us and so I wondered listening there how was it that her soul was brought so near to mine now whom in life she hated so and everywhere about my life I thought and thought and found and no reason why her love should now be mine we were at strife forever here her hatred drove me to despair I cast my glove into the frowning face of fate and lost her yay it was her hate that made her apollonio's wife her hate her lovely hate for of her not I found unlovely and I felt she did not understand my passion and were well to wait and now I felt her presence near I full of life yet knew no fear there in the somber silence mark and it was dark yes deadly dark but when I slowly drew away the Paul death modeled with her face from her fair form it fell and lay rich in the dust the shrouded place with glittering daggers by the spark of one wild ruby at her throat red arrowed as a star with throbs of pulsing flame and note on note the night scene filled with tenuous sobs of fire that flickered from that stone that lustrous lay against her throat larges her eyes and shadowy and standing by the dead alone I marveled not that this should be the essence of an hundred stars of fretful crimson through and through its bezels beat when bending down my hot lips pressed her mouth and scars a roar scarlet viny blue flame hearted blurred the midnight and the vault rang and I felt a hand like a fire in mine and low a frown broke up by her face as gently as the surface of a fountain's glass a zephyr moves that jolts the grass spilling its raindrops when this past through song soft slumber binding fast slow smiles dreamed outward beautiful and with each smile I heard the dull deep music of her heart and saw as by some necromantic law faint tremblings of a lubric light flush her white temples and her throat and each long pulse was as a note that gathering like a strong surprise with all of happiness made sweet with dim carnation in wild wise the arch of her pale lips and beat like moonlight from her head to feet I bent and kissed her once again and with that kiss it seemed that pain which long had ached beneath her smile and eyelids to vanished in a while I saw she breathe then wondrous white fair as she was before she died she rose upon the veer a sight to marvel at whose truth belied all fiction yet I saw her eyes grow wide into my kiss like skies of starless dawn and all the fire that dark ruby at her throat around her presence seemed to float a mist of rose wherein like light she moved or music exquisite what followed then I scarcely know all I remember is I caught her hand and from the tomb I brought her beautiful and or the snow where moonbeams on the holly's glow I led her but her feet no print left of their nakedness no dent though faintest raced in frost I thought the moonlight fills them with its glow so soft they fall or just the snow covers them all the tomb was black and this strong light of blinds turning back my eyes met hers and as I turned flashing sin tuple facet burned that ruby at her throat and I studied its beauty for a while how came it there and when and why who set it at her throat again was it a ruby pondering I stood engaged a far strange smile filled all her face and is with pain I seem to hear her speak or sing these words that meant not anything yet more than any words may mean thy blood it is she said inside see where thy heart's blood beat it hear thy heart's blood that my lips did drain in life I live by still unseen long as thy passion shall remain can't thou behold and have no fear yay if I am not dead tis thou look how thy heart's blood flashes now blood of my life and soul beat on beat on and fill my veins with dawn and heat the heart of me his bride and then she leaned against me I'd like some white serpent strangely still that binds one with its glittering stare that at wild stars hath gazed until its eyes have learned their golden glare and then I took her by the wrists and drew her to me faintly felt the shadow of her hair whose mists were twilight deep and dimly smelt of shroud and sepulcher and she smiled on me with such sorcery as well might win a soul from God to hell and torments and I trod on white enchantments and was long a song and harp string to a song loves battle in my blood and there kissing her mouth all unaware the ruby loosened at her throat and ere I whisked hung or my hand and on the brink I seemed to stand of something that cried out I admire the beauty of this gem of fire its witchcraft and its workmanship then from her throat it seemed to slip and in the hollow of my hand a rosy spasm a bubble boat of living flame it seemed to float a fretful fire a heart fierce fanned of red convulsions like a brand the blaze it touched me seemed to run like fever through my pulses swift of torred poison one by one now burning ice now freezing sun I felt my veins swell then I felt my palm grim up and overflow with blood that beads of oozing glow dripped drop by drop upon the snow like holly berries on the snow then something darkly seemed to melt within me and I heard a sigh like a moan cause as if years of anguish bore it and the sky swam near me as when seen through tears and she was gone in ghostly gloom of dark scarred pines a crumbling tomb loomed like a mist carved in its stone above the grated portal deep glimmered this legend let her sleep crowned with dim death our lovely one known here on earth is gloramon our hearts bow down by her and weep and one sits weeping all alone in the poem this recording is in the public domain the image in the glass by Madison Cowine read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shempf the slow reflection of a woman's face grew as by witchcraft in the oval space of that strange glass on which the moon looked in as cruel as death beneath the auburn hair the dark eyes burned and or the faultless chin evil as night yet as the day break fair rose red and sensual smiled the mouth of sin the glorious throat and shoulders and twin crests of snow the splendid beauty of the breasts filled soul and body with the old desire daughter of darkness how could this thing be you whom I loathed for whom my heart's fierce fire had burnt two ashes of satiety you who had sunk my soul in crime's red mire how came your image there and in that room where she the all adored my life's sweet bloom died poisoned she my scarcely one week's bride yes poisoned by a gift you sent to her thinking her death would win me to your side it won me yes but well it made some stir by your own hand I think they said you died time passed and then was it the curse of crime that night of nights which forced my feet to climb to that locked bridal room it was midnight when a longing like to madness mastered me compelled me to that chamber which for ten long years was sealed a dark necessity to gaze upon I knew not what again love's ghost perhaps or in the curvature of that orbit mirror something that might cure the ache in me some message said per chance of her dead loveliness which once had glassed that might repeat again my lost romance in momentary pictures of the past while in its depths her image swam in trance I did not dream to see the soulless eyes of you I hated nor the lips where lies and kisses curled your features that were tuned to all demonic smiling up as might some deep damnation while my god I swooned oozed slowly out between the breasts dead white the ghastly red of that wide dagger wound and a poem this recordings in the public domain the legend of the stone by Madison Cowan read for libra fox dot org by phone the year was dying and today was almost dead the west beneath the somber gray was somber red the gravestones in the ghostly light that glimmered there seemed phantoms wandering one and white mid trees half bare I stood beside the grave of one who here in life was false to me who had undone my child and wife I stood beside his grave until the moon came up it seemed the dark unhellowed hill lifted a cup no stone was there to mark his grave no flower to grace it was meat that weeds alone should wave in such a place I stood beside his grave until the stars swam high and all the night was iron still from sky to sky what cared I though strange eyes glowed bright within the gloom though evil blue a witch's light burnt by each tomb or that each crooked thorn tree seemed a hag black cloaked or that the owl above me screamed the raven croaked I cursed him cursed him when the day burnt sun and red had cursed him when the west was gray and day was dead and now when night made dark the pole both soon and late I cursed his body yay and soul with the hate of hate once at my side I seemed to hear a low voice say it were better to forgive and fear thy god and pray I laughed and from pale lips of stone on sculptured tombs wild laughter left and then a moon swept through the glooms and then I felt a change a force that seemed to seize my body like some fearful curse and fastening freeze it downward deeper than the knees into the earth while still among the twisted trees rang mocking birth and then I felt such fear despair as lost ones feel when knotted in their pitch stiff hair they feel the steel of devil's forks lift up through sleet of hell's slant fire then plunge as white from head to feet I grew and tire a voice without me yet within as still as frost entombed thy sin is more than sin oh damned and lost behold how god would punish thee for this night crime thy crime of hate and blasphemy through endless time or him whom thou wouldst not forgive record what good he did on earth and let him live loved understood be memory thine of all the worst he did nine own there at the head of him I cursed I stood a stone end of poem this recording is in the public domain the ruined mill by madison cowain read for libra fox dot org by phone on the wild south fork of herrits creek or grown with creepers if you should seek you will find an ancient water mill of stone below a wooded hill its weedy wheel is not less still than his image that sleeps in the grassy pool where the moccasin swims and slimly cool like streaks of light through blurs of sun the silver minnows and crawfish run so lone the place in its sycamore the blue crane builds and from the shore the shite poke wanders about its door the bird ox rolls on its sill of pine and in its pathway eaglin time and blackberry tangle and intertwine ox daisies checker with pearl and gold the bushy banks of its mill race old the owl in its loft as safely layers as the fox in its cellar that welps and cares not for the hunters who gallop by with their baying hounds the martins fly around the chimney and build their inn and wasp and hornet with murmur as din plastered our nests that none disturb on window lintel and hover curb once i stood in this old stone mill once as the day died over the hill and night came on and stark and still i met with phantoms upon its stairs shadows that took me unawares eyed with fire and culled with gloom twilight phantoms that crowded dark its dim interior each eye spark of sunset creviced within the room while a moist chill mouldering dead perfume of crumbling timbers and rotting grain on floors all warped with a sun and rain made of the stagnant air a cell around the cobweb drosters hung like a spell making my mind despite me run on thoughts of a hidden skeleton there in the walls or dropping dank under the floor beneath a certain plank glowering grim in the mossy wet in its hollow eyes a dark regret i had entered when the evening star in the saffron heaven was sparkling afar in all its glory of light divine like a diamond drowned in kingly wine and i stayed till the heavens hung low and gray and the clouds of the storm drove down and away like the tattered leaves of an autumn day and the wild rain beat on the rotting roof the goblin dance of the fiend's own hoof till the spider dropped from its dusty roof and the thunder throbbed like a mighty heart and the wild wind filled each crannied part of the mill with monies that seemed to be the voice of an ancient agony till the beetle shrunk in its board of pine while the lightning lit with its instant shine the tossing terror of tree and vine then all on a sudden the storm was still and i saw her there near the shattered sill at the window gazing from the mill into the darkness under the storm around her flickering hair and form unearthly glimmer she seemed to lean to the rushing waters that roared unseen a moment only she seemed to sway before me there in the lightning gray then vanished utterly away like a blown out light and was it she the miller's daughter who died they say who flung herself on the mill's great wheel long years ago in her heart's despair or was it a dream a fantasy that the place and the moment made me feel and imagination imaged there end of poem this recording is in the public domain on floyd's fork by madison cawain read for libra fox that or by phone when the hoot of the owl comes over the hill at 12 o'clock when the night is still and pale on the pool where the creed frogs croon glimmering gray is the light on the moon and under the willows where shadows lie the torch of the firefly wanders by they say that the miller walks here walks here all covered with chaff with his crooked staff and his horrible hobble and hideous laugh the old lame miller how many a year when the hoot of the owl comes over the hill he walks in the night by herds mill when the bark of the fox sounds lone on the hill at 12 o'clock when the night is chill with the autumn wind and the water's creep where the starlight fails and the shadows sleep and under the willows that toss and moan the glowworm kindles its lantern loam they say that a woman floats dead floats dead in a weedy space that the lilies lace a curse in her eyes and a smile on her face the miller's young wife with a gash in her head when the bark of the fox sounds lone on the hill she floats in the night by herds mill when the hell of the hound comes over the hill at 12 o'clock when the night is ill and the thunder mutters and rain winds song and the foxfire glows like the lamp of a law and under the willows that gloom and glance the will of the wisps hold a devil's dance they say that that crime is reacted again and each cranny and chink of the mill dot wink delight a hell or the lightnings blink and a woman's shrieks are heard through the rain when the hell of the hound comes over the hill no man will walk by herds mill end of poem this recording is in the public domain the woman by the water by madison call wine red for libervox dot org she stands within the stormy glow of sunset with a face of snow the white embodiment of woe as night comes on she stands within the somber glare of dusk with dark neglected hair an apparition of despair when day is gone the haggard house within the veil looks spectral as a ragged sail the dutchman hoists against the gale on haunted seas and in the garden one vast break of dock and thistle snail and snake crawl and the death watch taps awake in rotting trees the stagnant stream along the night creeps like a nightmare where each white lily is an uneasy light a wisp up tossed and through the cypress trees and vines the gray fox gulks and laps and wines the owl hoots and the foxfire shines in darkness lost she stands beside the stagnant stream her garments drip at every seam she looks a shadow in a dream of dread and woe no star stares half so steadily at earth as at the water she and what she sees there it may be the outlets no end of poem this recording is in the public domain A Street of Ghosts by Madison Kaywin read for LibriVox.org by William Mosqueda the drowsy day with half closed eyes dreams in this quaint forgotten street that like some old world wreckage lies left by the seas receding beat far from the city's restless feet abandoned pavements that the trees huge roots have wrecked whose flagstones feel no more the sweep of draperies and sunken curbs wearing no wheel grinds and no gallant spur bound heel old houses walled with rotting brick thick creepered dormered weather veined like withered faces sad and sick stare from each side all broken pained with battered doors the rain has stained and through the day be white with heat their ancient yards are dimming cold where now the toad makes its retreat mid flower pots green caked with mold and not by noisome weeds unfold the slow gray slug and snail have trailed their slimy silver up and down their beds were once the moss rows veiled rich beauty and the mushroom brown swells with a lily tossed its crown the shadowy scents that often won't to flit among the walks and bows seem ghosts of sweet hearts here who haunt and wander around each empty house wrapped in the fragrance of dead vows and happily when the evening droops her amber eyelids in the west here you may hear the swish of hoops or cats the glint of hat and vest as two dim lovers past you pressed and instant as some stars slant flame that scores the swarthly cheek of night perhaps behold colonel dame and gentlemen in staley white go glimmering down the pale moonlight in powder patch and fur below cocked hats and sword and everyone tory and wig of long ago as real as in the days long gone the courtly days of washington end of poem this recording is in the public domain before the tomb by madison kawin red for libervox dot org by william mosqueda the way led under cedar gloom where over the entrance over tomb the moon hung like a cactus bloom i had an hour of night and thin sad star light and i set my chin against the grading and looked in a gleam like moonlight through a square of opening i knew not where shown on her coughing resting there and on its oval silver plate i read her name in age and date and smiled soft thinking on my hate there was no insect sound no when to make a little stir i stood and looked and thought on her the gleam stole downward from her head till at her feet it rested red ungothic gold whose letters said god to her love lent a weak reed of strength and gave no light to lead pray for her soul for it half need there was no night birds twitter near no low vague water i might hear to make a small sound in the ear the gleam that made a burning mark of each dim word died to a spark then left the tomb in coffin dark i had a little while to wait and prayed with hands against the great and heart that yearned anew too late there was no light below above to point my soul the way thereof the way of hate that led to love end of poem this recording is in the public domain flamen scene by madison kaywin red for libravox dot org by william esqueda it was a gypsy maiden within the forest green it was a gypsy maiden who shook a tambourine the star of eve had not the face the cascades foam had not the grace of flamen scene her bodice was a purple her shoes of satin sheen her bodice was a purple with scarlet laid between the wind of eve was in the tread the black of night was on the head of flamen scene among the dreaming vistas the darkling dels between among the dreaming vistas i heard her tambourine and far within the ghostly glade the moonbeams and the shadows played around flamen scene among the beach and shadows where fireflies are seen among the beach and shadows when glow worms glimmer green then down the darkness like a light she dances and the eyes are bright of flamen scene there lies a gypsy maiden within the forest green there lies a gypsy maiden beside her tambourine these many years i am her slave the violets grow up on the grave of flamen scene end of poem this recording is in the public domain hildegarde by medicine kawain redverlibbervox.org by phil schempf hildegarde the demons name her who meets me on the mountain her whose hair is like the flame of a sunset-fevered fountain i can tell her by her eyes dreadful eyes of bitter barrel where the anguish never dies and the suffering soul sits sterile in such light as ever lies on the unsailed seas of peril how we met i never knew once i turned and there she trembled near me glimmering like the dew in the sessions of assembled flowers hers some influence of soft serpent magnetism vanquishing my every sense with essential mesmerism holding me beneath the lens of her will's compelling prism i cannot escape she treads noiseless as the forest flowers walked on by the wind their heads pavements for the mottled ours she is whiter than the trees when their blossoms are unsheathing she is lissom as the ease of the lily water reading she is subtle as the breeze through the summer foliage breathing when she speaks within my ears like wild music heard in fever is her voice and it appears that my soul can never leave her babelonian necromancy oldest witteries that harrow yet compel are hers her glance holds me and my very marrow feels it and i stand a trance while her pupils slowly narrow thus she binds me with her gaze while her white hands weigh my shoulders and my weak will swings and sways to her gaze that burns and smolders so she draws me far away under boughs where summer dallas over peaks of purple day far away through eden alleys all the way in one long may till we come to her dark valleys their black tempest treads the peaks iron skies are golfed asunder once the lightning slava streaks vomiting the hosts of thunder here she kisses me till red with my heart's blood are her kisses then my soul is seized with dread or it knows no woman this is yay behold it sees instead but a milk white snake that hisses and the poem this recording is in the public domain romant of the oak by madison quayne read for libra vox.org by josh kibby i wrote to death for a thought for shame the lady marine of noble name the fair and faithless though life belong is love the wiser love made song of all my life and the soul that crept before arose like a star and lept still leaps with the love that it found untrue that it found unworthy now run me through yay run me through for meat and well and adjust for laughter of fiends in hell it is that i who have done no wrong should die by the hand of hu the strong of hu her lemon what else could be when the devil was judged twist thee and me he splintered my lance and my blade he broke now finish me thou neath the trusting oak the shield of his foeman a heart of white in a bath of fire shown in the night the plume of his foeman as midnight black blue as he lept on his horse's back lept and laughed as his sword he swung then galloped away with a laugh on his tongue who is she in the gray wet dawn mid the forest shades like a shadow on who kneels one hand on her straining breast one hand on the dead man's bosom pressed her face is dim as the dead's and cold as his tarnished harness of steel and gold oh lady maureen oh lady maureen what boots it now that regret is keen that his hair you smooth that you kiss his brow what boots it now what boots it now she has hailed him under the trusting oak the huge old oak that the creepers cloak she has stood him gaunt in his battered arms and its haunted hollow be safe from storms she laughed as his cloven cask she placed on his brow and his ribbon shield she braced then sat and talked to the forest flowers through the lonely term of the day's pale hours and stared and whispered and smiled and wept as nearer and nearer the evening crept and aloe when the moon like a great gold bloom above the sorrowful trees did loom she rose up sobbing oh moon come see my bridegroom here in the old oak tree i have talked to the flowers all day all day for never a word had he to say he would not listen he would not hear though i wailed my longing into his ear oh moon steal in where he stands so grim and tell him i love him and plead with him soften his face that is cold and stern and brighten his eyes and make them burn oh moon white moon so my soul can see can say that they glow with love for me when the moon had set and the woods were dark the wild deer came and stood as stark as phantoms with eyes of flame or fled like a ghostly herd of the hunted dead and the strict saddle called and the werewolf snarled and a voice in the bowels of the oak tree gnarled like the whining voice of the hags that dried to the witches sabbath crooned and cried and wrapped in his mantle of wind and cloud the storm fiend stalked through the forest loud when she heard the dead man rattling groan as the oak was bent and its leaves were blown and the lightning flickered his shimmering mail through the swirl and sweep of the rain and hail she seemed to hear him who seemed to call come hither marine the wild leaves fall the wild leaves rustle the wild leaves flee come hither marine to the hollow tree to the tristine tree to the tree once green come hither marine come hither marine they found her closed in his armored arms had he claimed his bride on that night of storms end of poem this recording is in the public domain a reed shaken with the wind by madison call wine read for LibriVox.org by larry wilson not for you and me the path winding through the shadowless fields of morning's doingness where the brook that hurries hath laughter lighter than a boy's where recurrent orders poise romp like with irreverent tresses in the sun and leaves and bows build a music haunted house for the winds to hang their dresses whisper soaking rustling in ours a path that led into twilight regions gray with dew where moon vapors gathered thin over acres sisterless of all healthy beauty where fungus growths made sad the air as a phantom felt caress under darkness and strange stars to the sorrow silenced bars of adubious forest land where the wood since seemed to stand and the sounds on either hand clad like sleep's own servitors in the shadowy livery of the ancient house of dreams which before us fitfully with white intermittent gleams of its pale lamped windows shown echoing with the dim unknown to say to hope take all from me and grant me not take rose and song and melody and word and thought then all my life make her slave is all I crave to say to time be true to me or grant me less of loss of grief of memory of harsh distress then for her love set me at task is all I ask I came to you when Eve was young and where the park rolled downward to the river and among the dew one vesper moment lit and sung a bird your eyes said something true said something to my eyes more dear than song the bird poured silver clear how sweet it was to be with you how with our souls we seem to hear the night approaching with its stars how calm the moon sloped up her sphere of fire filled pearl through the passing bars of clouds that merged the tender east while all the dark inanimate of nature woke initiate with the moon's arrival something ceased in nature's soul she stood again another south that seemed to have been dormant suppressed and so unseen all day a life unknown and strange and dreams suggested that had lain masked on with light within the range of thought but unrevealed till now it was the hour of love and you with downward eyes and pensive brow among the moonlight and the dew although no word of love was spoken heard the sweet night's confession broken of something here more sweet in me a love depth made inaudible save to your soul that answered well with eyes replying silently fair you are as a rose is fair there where the shadows do it and the deeps of your brown brown hair soft as the cloud that lingers there with the sunset's auburn through it eyes of azure and throat of snow tell me what my heart would know every dream i dream of you has a love thought in it and a hope a kiss or two something dear and something true telling me each minute with three words it whispers clear that my heart from you would hear june time came the dues grew kind with increasing beauty deep were the nights with rest and sleep fair with poppies intertwined on their blonde locks went the hours sunny hearted as the rose through the buds and banded flowers teaching them how no one knows freshness color and perfume in the window of your room bloomed a late azalea pink as an egret's rosy plumes shown its tinder tufted blooms from your care and love i think love's rose color it did drink growing rosier day by day through your tending hands caress and your own dear naturalness had imbued it in some way once you gave a blossom of it smiling to me when i left need i tell you how i love it faded though it is now ref of its fragrance and its color yet is dearer now than then as past happiness is when life regrets and dimmer duller though its beauty be when i look upon it i recall every part of that old wall and the dingy window high where you sat in red and all the fond love that made your face a soft sunbeam in that place and the plant that grew this bloom withered here at south long dead makes a halo overhead there again and through my room like faint whispers of perfume steal the words of love then said all of my love i send to you i send to you i'm thoughts like moths that wind to you out of my heart's glad garden or which it's lovely warden your face a lily seeming is dreaming all of my life i bring to you i bring to you in deeds like birds that wing to you out of my soul's deep valley or which most musically your love a fountain glistens and listens my love my life how blessed in you how blessed in you whose thoughts whose needs find rest in you here on my life's dark ocean or which in heavenly motion your soul a star abideth and guideeth where the old kentucky wound through the land it's streamed between hills of primitive forest green like a goodly belt around giant breasts of grandeur with many an unknown indian myth on the boat we steamed the land like an hospitable hand welcomed us alone we sat on the underdeck and saw farmhouse and plantation draw near and vanish beneath your hat your young eyes laughed and your hair blown about them by the air of our passage clung and curl music and the summer moon and the hills great shadows hewn out of silence and the tune of the whistle when we whirled round a moonlit bend in sight of some lone landing heaped with hay or tobacco where the light of one dim solitary lamp signaled through the evening stamp then a bell and dusky gray shuffling figures on the shore with the cable rugged forms on the gangplank backs and arms with their cargo bending ore and the burly mate before then an iron bell and puff of escaping steam and out where the stream is wheel whipped rough music and a parting shout from the shore the pilots bell beating on the deck below then the steady quivering slow smooth advance again until twinkling lights beyond his tail of a lock or little town clasped between a hill and a hill where the blue grass field sloped down so we went that summertime lingers with me like a rhyme learned for dreamy beauty of its old-fashioned faith and love in some musing moment sith heart associated with joy that moments quiet bore and forgotten nevermore three sweet things love lives upon music at whose fountains bring low he stoops his face to drink seen as the wave is drawn his near image rise and sink three sweet things love lives upon three sweet things love lives upon odor whose red roses read his bright brow that shines beneath hearing as each bloom is blown his soul's essence breathe and breathe three sweet things love lives upon three sweet things love lives upon color to whose rainbow he lifts his dark eyes burningly feeling as the wild hues dawn his high immortality three sweet things love lives upon memories of other days sad with while and happiness rise before my musing gaze in the twilight and your dress seems beside me like a haze shimmering white as when we went beneath the stars drew infirmament love led with impatient feet down the night that summer sweet sparkled or the lamp lit street every look you gave me then comes before my eyes again making music for my heart on that path where once for us roses red and amorous grew the rose red of love roses that are dead enough on that path now was off start out of recollected places with remembered forms and faces dreams of love like figures woven in my life's dark tapestry beckoning ever shadowy to my soul still or the cloven gulf of time i seem to hear words once whispered in my ear calling as my friends long dead with familiar voices deep call to one who lies asleep comforting so was i led backward to forgotten things contiguities that spread sudden unremembered wings and across my mind still blew from the nest they fledged in flew dazzling shapes that passion knew ah over a fall my heart is of sadness and of pain as a rose flower in the garden the dull dusk fills with rain as a blown red rose that shivers and bows to the wind and rain so give me your hands and speak me as once in the days of your when love spoke sweetly to us the love that speaks no more the sound of your voice may help him to speak in my heart once more on over grieved my soul is and tired and sick for sleep as a poppy bloom that withers forgotten where reapers reap as a harvested poppy flower that dies where reapers reap so bend to my face and kiss me as once in the days of your where the touch of your lips was magic that restored to life once more the thought of your kiss which awakens to life that love once more sitting often i have often have desired you so you're in to kiss you as i did when your love to me you gave in the moonlight by the wave and a long remembered kiss pressed upon your mouth the chid then upon each eyes sweet lid that all passion shaken i with love language will address each dear thing i know you by picture needlework or frame each suggestive in the same perfume of past happiness till me seems the ways we knew now again i tread with you from the old time trist and there fill the pressure of your hair cool and young upon my cheek and your breath's aroma there on my arm your hand as weak as a lily on a stream and once more you look at me with some time witchery and again i hear you speak and remembered ecstasy sweeps my soul again i seem dreaming would i thus might dream ever the reality mix itself eternally with such visions of the past where my soul still holds you fast when day dies lone forsaken and joy is kissed asleep when doubts gray eyes awaken and love with music taken from hearts with sighing shaken sits in the dusk to weep with ghostly lifted finger what memory then shall rise of dark regret the bringer to tell the sorrowing singer of days whose echoes linger till dawn unstars the skies when night is gone and beaming faith journeys forth to toil when hopes blue eyes wake gleaming and life is done with dreaming the dreams that seem but seeming within the world's turmoil who may forget the presence of death that walks unseen whose sigh the cast shadowy crescents around life's glittering essence as lessons slowly lessens the space that lies between bland was that october day calm and balmy is the spring when we went a forest way under beaches like ingray to a valid opening where the purple aster flowered and like torches savage held red the fiery sumac towered and where gum trees sentinel the vistas robed in gold and garnet ripe the thorny chestnut shell its brown plumpness be in hornet droned around us low the cricket tireless in the wood roast thicket tremoload and to the wind all its moonspun silver casting swung the milkweeds pod that thinned where butterfly seemed panned and his clean flame on the sod by the fading golden rod burned the white life everlasting it was not so much the time nor the place nor way we went that made all our moods to rhyme nor the season sentiment as it was the innocent carefree childhood of our hearts reading each expression of death and change as life and love that impression joy and parts and to others and retorts on itself which then made glad all the sorrow of decay as the memory of that day makes this day of autumn sad the pungent breezed petunias hang riven of the rain and where their tiger lily was now droops a tony stain well in the twilight's purple paws earth dreams of heaven again when love sits down to sigh where one lies all alone beneath the sod's green sky what boots it then to try or to atone with ragged petals round its pod the rain wrecked poppy dies and where the hectic rose did not a crumbled crimson lies well distant as the dreams of god the star slip in the skies when love lies down to sleep when one is dead and gone within the darkness deep what boots it then to weep all sad and done holding both your hands in mine often have we sat together while outside the boisterous weather hung the wild wind on the pine like a black marauder and with a sudden warning hand at the casement wrapped the night wrote no line of glimmer of light star beam syllables within her dark book of death and sin cloudy chapter tragically looking in your eyes ah me though i knew i did not heed what the night wrote there for us threatening in ominous for love helped my heart to read forward to unopened pages of a coming day that held more for us than all the ages past that it epitomized in one sentence where was spelled what our present realized only all the love that was passed and still to be for us though in the garden's gray with dew all life flies withering and there's no more to say or do no more to sigh or sing come back with me the ways we knew when buds were opening perhaps we shall not search in vain within its wrecking gloom mid roses ruined of the rain there still may live one bloom one flower whose heart may still retain the long lost soul perfume and then perhaps we'll come to us the dreams we dreamed of your and song who spoke so beautyous will speak to us once more and love with eyes all amorous will gaze as once before so though the yard is gray with dew and flowers are withering and there's no more to say or do no more to sigh or sing come back with me the ways we knew when buds were opening looking on the desolate street where the first snow drifts and drives trodden black of hurrying feet where the athlete stormwind of strives with each tree and dangling light centers feared with glittering white hissing in the dancing snow backward in my mind i go to the tempest haunted night of two autumns past when we hastening homeward were overtaken of the storm anitha tree with its wild leaves tempest shaken sheltered us in that forsaken sad and ancient cemetery where folk came no more to bury the haggard gravestones must encrumbled tottered round us or or tumbled in their sunken graves and some earned an obelisk above iron fenced in tombs stood dumb records of forgotten love and again i see the west yawning inward to its core of electric spasmed ore swiftly without pause or rest and a great wind sweeps the dust up abandoned sidewalks and in the rotting trees the gust shouts again a voice that would make its gaunt self understood moaning over death's lean land and we sat there hand in hand on the granite where we read by the instant skies or head something of one young and dead yet the words we got no fear in our souls you leaned your cheeks smiling on mine very near where our lips we did not speak and suddenly alone i stood with scared eyes gazing through the wood for some still sign of ill or good to lead me from the solitude the day was at its twilight one cloud or head spread a vast wing of rosy thunder vanishing behind the far hills sullen ring some stars shown timidly or head and towards the west cadaverous red like some wild dream that haunts the dead in limbo the lean moon was lad upon the sad debatable vague lands of twilight slowly fell a silence that i knew too well a sorrow that i cannot tell what way to take what path to go whether into the east grade glow or where the west burnt red and low what way to choose i did not know so hesitating there i stood lost in my soul's uncertain wood one sign i craved of ill or good to lead me from its solitude it was autumn and a night full of whispers and a mist with a gray moon wanly wist hanging like phantom blight or the hills we stood among windy fields of weed and flower where the withered seed pod hung and the chill leaf cricket sung melancholy was the hour with the mystery of loneliness of the year that seemed to look on its own departed face as our love then in its oneness all its dead past did retrace and from that sad moment took presage of approaching parting sorrowful the hour and dark low among the trees now darting now concealed a lamp's pale spark like a thin fire winked and lured shut among the shadows where all was doubtful unassured in material and bare facts of unideal day changed to substance such as dreams and we seemed then far away farther than remotest gleams of the stars lost separated and estranged and out of reach grew our lives away from each other far away as it was fated there is no gladness in the day now you're away dole is the mourn the moon is dull once beautiful and when the sunset fills the skies with dusking dies with tired eyes and tired heart i sit alone i sigh apart and wish for you for only you uh darker now the night comes on since you are gone sad are the stars the moon is sad once holy glad and when the stars and moon are set the earth lies wet with hearts regret and souls heartache i dream alone i lie awake and think of you of only you these who once spake me speak no more now all is or day have forgot the language of its hopes of love night whose sweet lips were burdensome with dreams is dumb far different from what used to be with grief and loss they speak to me they speak of you of only you so it ends the path that crept through a land all slumber west where the faded moonlight slept like a pale antagonist now the star that led me onward reassuring with its light fails and falters dipping downward leaves me wandering in night with old doubts like hounds unchained baying at my back in flight so it ends the woods attained where our hearts desire building a fair temple fire gilded with hopes marvel shrine within where the lineaments of our love shone with lilies clad and crowned under marbled rear sorrow and her sister sin columned wreathed and ribboned wound in the forest i have found but a ruin all around lie the shattered capitals and vast fragments of the walls like a climbing cloud that plays when wrecked or the moon that lies beneath its blackness taking on gradual certainties of one soft assaults of easy white till its huge cocoon that holds like a moth the moon unfolds and it passes and the sky's emptiness and hungry night clean its bulk again while she rides in lonely purity so i found our temple broken an amusing moment space love whose latest word was spoken seemed to meet me face to face making bright that ruined place with a white effulgence then passed and all was dark again in the poem this recording is in the public domain woman's portion by madison carvine read for libravox.org by larry wilson and nemo the leaves are shivering on the thorn grirly and signe wakes the sad eyed mourn wearily i press my thin face to the pain grirly but never will he come again grirly the rain has sickled day with haze grirly my tears run downward as i gaze grirly the mist and mourn's bacon to me grirly what is this thing god gives to the whirly i said into the mourn and mist grirly the babe unborn whom sin hath kissed whirly the mourn and mist bacon to me grirly what is this thing which without dust see whirly i said into the mist and mourn grirly the shame of man and women's corn whirly he loved thee not they made reply grirly i said would god had let me die whirly my hopes are as a closed up book grirly upon whose clasp of love i look whirly all night the rain raved overhead grirly all night i wept awake in bed whirly i heard the wind sweep wild and wide it grirly and turned upon my face inside whirly the wind and rain spake unto me grirly what is this thing god takes from the whirly i said into the rain and wind grirly the love for which my body sinned whirly the rain and wind spake unto me grirly what are these things that burdened the whirly i said into the wind and rain grirly past joys and dreams whose ghosts remain whirly thou loves him still they made reply grirly i said would god that i could die whirly end of poem this recording is in the public domain Ku Klux by Madison Kawine red for Libervox.org we have sent him seeds of the melon's core and nailed a warning upon his door by the Ku Klux laws we can do no more down in the hollow mid crib and stack the roof of his low-porched house looms black not a line of light at the door sills crack yet arm and mount and mask and ride the hounds can sense though the fox may hide and for a word too much men oft have died the clouds blow heavy toward the moon the edge of the storm will reach it soon the kill the cries and the lonesome loon the clouds shall flush with a wilder glare then the lightning makes with its angled flair when the Ku Klux verdict is given there in the paws of the thunder rolling low a rifle signal who shall know from the wind's fierce hurl and the rain's black blow only the signature written grim at the end of the message brought to him a hempen rope and a twisted limb so arm and mount and mask and ride the hounds can sense though the fox may hide and for a word too much men oft have died end of poem this recording is in the public domain at dawn by madison call wine red for livervox.org far off i heard dark waters rush the sky was cold the dawn broke green and wrapped in twilight and strange hush the gray wind moaned between a voice rang through the house of sleep and through its halls there went a tread mysterious raiment seemed to sweep around one lying dead and then i knew that i had died i who had suffered so and sinned and twice myself i stood beside in the gray dawn and wind end of poem this recording is in the public domain pretorita by madison call wine red for livervox.org by bruska chuck low belts of rushes ragged with the blast legumes of marish reddening with the west and or the marsh the water fowls unrest while daylight dwindles and the dusk falls fast set in sad walls all mossy with the past an old stone gateway with a crumbling crest a garden where death drowses manifest and in gaunt use the shadowy house at last here like an unseen spirit silence talks with echo and the wind in each gray room where melancholy slumbers with the rain or like some gentle ghost the moonlight walks in the dim garden which her smile makes bloom with all the old time loveliness again when slow the twilight settles or its roof and from the haggard oaks unto its door the rain comes wild as one who rides before his enemies that follow hoof to hoof and in each windows gusty curtain wolf the rain winds sighs like one who mutters or some tale of love and crime and on the floor the sunset spreads red stains as bloody proof from hall to hall and haunted stair to stair through all the house a dread that drags me toward the ancient dusk of that avoided room wherein she sits with ghostly golden hair and eyes that gaze beyond her soul's sad doom waking the ghost of that old harpsichord and a poem this recording is in the public domain in shadow by madison coine red for livery vox dot org by bruska chuck a moth sucks at a flaming flower the moon beams on the old church tower i watched the moth and rising moon one silver tip of glimmer slip through ghostly treetops deep with june to dream above the church an hour the gray moth on the dewy pod dreams and the sleepy poppies nod their drugged heads in the languid breeze that whispers low of some dim woe and spirit like among the trees strew snowy petals on the sod my soul dreams at life's blood red heart of that thou art of thee who art all silence saying something fair as phantoms know when moon flowers blow and spirits meet the beauty rare of which thou too has grown apart my heart behold is but a bloom a pale thought clings to by a tomb a tomb that holds the one i love all one of cheek whom wild and weak my heart bows down and breaks above grief haunted in the moonlit gloom and a poem this recording is in the public domain in the owl light by madison coine red for livery vox dot org by bruska chuck uplifted darkness and the owl light breaks scuds the wild land pursuing patch with patch as when deep daisy fields a swift wind shakes how clumsily i raised the crazy latch so when yawn black cloud light absorbing rakes again the moon's bald disk out and the storm will snatch again my hair made lank with wind and rain two hours since there from the ragged plain a great cloud beasom sweeps the beams again out out no fear of risk first past the fellside where the bramble hollow wines wolf-like with the wind gaunt wind that grieves through the one sickly ash whose withered leaves worry and mutter shrivelled as the lips of bent hags kissing then the slope that whips the face with brush and where a narrowed vine slips snake like from off a rock that seems to wallow one mass of briars a humpbacked hulk of hair a gorgon head of writhings huge that heaves when heaped abruptly on it flare burst rain and tempest glare this past i follow a thorny slip of path until i reach the storm scarred summit of the hill let me not think of it as i go thence that thought i cannot kill ungovernable that dogs my footsteps still like something real and living which my will is powerless against ah when that fence dividing the dark ridges of the hill is past shall i not then be breathless ill with sinking sense of ghastly things to come some sterner strength sustain my soul beyond the hill the dense dead woods to pass and then that livid length of mooning water spectral and immense with sullen storm and night there if the ghoulish wind that knows well as i know how i have sinned will cease to curse me in its hag like spite alone with all the horror of my soul i shall behold now this way and now that way rolled lifeless among cramped reeds the storm has thinned with wide white eyes metallic in the light of the impassive moon in gusty roll of washing ripples webby slippery locks dabbling and dark and wedged between sharp rocks two rocks two iron fangs where on the lake's mad lip pale foaming clangs wild pinched and water strangled white his murdered face that mocks and a poem this recording is in the public domain ashley mere by madison kawain red four livery vox.org by bruska chuck come look in the shadowy water here the stagnant water of ashley mere where the sterlest depths are dark but clear what is the thing that lies there a lily pod half sunk from sight or spawn of the toad all water white or ashen blur of the moon's one light or a woman's face and eyes there now lean to the water a listening here the haunted water of ashley mere what is the sound that you seem to hear in the ghostly hush of the deeps there a withered reed that the ripple lips or a night bird's wing that the surface whips or the rain in a leaf that drips and drips or a woman's voice that weeps there now look and listen but not too near the lonely water of ashley mere for so it happens this time each year as you lean by the mirror and listen and the moaning voice i understand for after i have watched it draw to land and lift from the water a ghastly hand and a face whose dead eyes glisten and this is the reason why every year to the hideous water of ashley mere i come when the woodland leaves our seer and the autumn moon hangs hoary for here by the mere was wrought a wrong but the old old story is over long and woman is weak and man is strong and the mirrors and mine is the story end of poem this recording is in the public domain the headless horseman by medicine cowine red for libra box dot org by phil schimpf on the black road through the wood as i rode there the headless horseman stood by the dark pool in the wood as i rode from the shadow of an oak as i rode demon steed and writer broke by the thunder riven oak as i rode on the wild way through the plane as i rode at my back he whirled like rain on the tempest blackened plane as i rode for black hoofs shod red with fire as i rode woke the wild rocks dark and dire eyes and nostrils streaming fire as i rode on the deep path through the rocks as i rode i could touch his horses locks through the echo hurling rocks as i rode and again i'd looked behind as i rode dark as night and swift as wind towering he rode behind as i rode on the steep road through the dale as i rode far away i heard a bell in the church beyond the dale as i rode and my soul cried out in prayer as i rode low the demon went in air when my soul called out in prayer as i rode and upon this recording is in the public domain the werewolf by medicine cowine red for libra box dot org by larry wilson and phone as she ney still amort my love why does thou lag the strict owl cried ney it was yon stream that leaps horse from the black pines of the hakel steeps its moon wild water glittering down the crag why so aghast sweetheart why dost thou stop the demon huntsman passed with hooting horn nay twist the blind wind sweeping through the thorn around the ruins of the dumb birk's top my limbs are cold come warm thee in my arms my eyes are weary rest them love on mine i am a thirst quench on my lips thy thirst oh dear beloved how'd i lost kiss warms my blood again off how thy eyeballs shine thou beast thou are thus do i die accursed in the poem this recording is in the public domain the sea spirit by medicine carwine red for libra box dot org by alan lawley army i shall not awaken soon from dreams of such divinity a spirit singing neath the moon to me wild sea spray driven off the storm is not so wildly white as she who beckoned with a foam white arm to me with eyes dark green and golden green long locks that sparkled drippingly out of the green wave she did lean to me and sang till earth and heaven were a far-forgotten memory till more than heaven seemed in her to me sleep sweeter than love's face or home and that's immutability and music of the collegiate foam army sweep over her with all thy ships with all thy stormy tides oh see the memory of immortal lips and me end of poem this recording is in the public domain the vampire by madison carwine red for libra box dot org a lily in a twilight place or moonflower in the lonely night strange beauty of a woman's face of wildflower white the rain that hangs a star's green ray slim on the leaf point restlessness is not so glimmering green and gray as was her dress i drew her dark hair from her eyes and in their deeps beheld a while such shadowy moonlight as the skies of hell may smile she held her mouth up red liwan and burning cold i bent and kissed such rosy snow as some wild dawn makes of a mist god shall not take me from that hour when round my neck her white arms clung when neath my lips like some fierce flower her white throat swung nor words she murmured while she leaned which words she holds me softly by the spell that binds me to a fiend until i die end of poem this recording is in the public domain will of the wisp by madison carwine red for libra box dot org by alan lawley there in the kalimus he stands with frog web feet and bat winged hands his glow worm garb glint scoblin wise and elfishly and impishly above the gleam of owlet eyes a death's head cap of downy dyes nods out at me and beckons me now in the reeds his face looks white as witch down on a witch's night now through the dark old haunted mill all eerily or flickering he flits and with a whip or wheel mouth calls and seems to syllable come follow me oh follow me now all the sluggish stream he wins a slime light at his fingers ends the spotted spawn the toad a clone slips easily sucks slime on a his easy footsteps seem to come like bubble gaspings of the scum this side of me that side of me there by the stagnant pool he stands a foxfire lamp in flickering hands the weeds are slimy to the tread and mockingly and gloatingly with slanted eyes and pointed head healings above a face long dead the face of me of me of me end of poem this recording is in the public domain revisited by madison koine read for LibriVox.org by Matthew D. Robinson it was beneath a waning moon when all the woods were seer and winds made eddies of the leaves that whispered far and near I met her on the bramble bridge we parted at last year at first I deemed her but a mist that faltered in that place an autumn mist beneath the trees the moon's thin beams did lace until I neared and in the moon beheld her face to face the crinkle of the summer heat above the drought burnt leaves the shimmer of the thistle drift to down the silences the gliding of the fairy fire between the swamp and trees all qualified her presence as a sorrow may a dream the vague suggestion of a self the glimmer of a gleam the actual and unreal of the things that are and seem where once she came with welcome and glad eyes all loving wise she passed and gave no greeting that my heart could recognize with far set face unseeing and sad unremembering eyes it was beneath a waning moon when woods were bleak and seer and winds made whispers of the leaves that eddied far and near I met her ghost upon the bridge we parted at last year end of poem this recording is in the public domain the old house by medicine cow wine read for libra vox.org by phil shampf quaint and forgotten by an unused road an old house stands around its doors the dense rank ironweeds grow high the chipmunks make a highway of its fence and on its sunken flagstones newt and toad as still as lichens lie the timid snake upon its hearth's cool sand sleeps undisturbed the squirrel haunts its roof and in the clapboard sides of closets dim with many a spider woof like the uncertain tapping of a hand the beetle borer hides above its lintel under mossy eaves the mud wasps build their cells and in the floor of its neglected porch the black bees nest through each deserted door vague as faint phantom footsteps steal the leaves and dropped cones of the larch but come with me when sunset's magic old transforms this ruin yay transmutes this house when windows one by one like age's eyes that youth's love dreams arouse grows layers of fire and a mouth of gold its wide door towards the sun or let us wait until each rain stained room is carpeted with moonlight patterned off with shadowed bows or head and through the house the wind goes rustling soft as might the ghost a whisper of perfume of some sweet girl long dead and a poem this recording is in the public domain the forest of dreams by madison k-1 read for librevox.org by nema where was i last friday night within the forest of dark dreams following the blur of goblin light that led me over dreadful streams were on the scum of the spawn was spread and the blistered slime and stagnant seams where the weed and the moss swam black and dead like a drowned girl's hair and the ropey ooze and the jack-o-lantern light that led flickered the foxfire trees or head and the owl like things that airy cruise where was i last friday night within the forest of dark dreams following a form of shadowy white with my own wild face it seems did a raven's wing just fan my hair or a web-winged bat brush by my face or the hand of something i did not dare look round to see in that obscene place where the bows with their leaves a devil's dance the thorn tree bush where the wind made moan had more than a strange significance of life and of evil not their own where was i last friday night within the forest of dark dreams seeing the mist rise left and right like the leathery fog that heaves and steams from the rolling horror of hell's red streams while the wind that tossed in the tattered tree and danced alone with the last mad leaf or was it the wind kept whispering me come bury a tear with its own black grief and its heart to fire that not can save and there in the darkness i seem to see my own self digging my soul aggrave end of poem this recording is in the public domain the city of darkness by madison k-1 read for librevox.org by nema wide walled stands in heathen lands beside a mystic sea its streets strange trod of many a god and temple blasphemy far through the night with light on light it flames beside the sea while overhead an unseen dread impends eternally there is a sound above around of music by the sea and weird and wide the torches glide of pagan revelry there is a noise as of a voice that calls beneath the sea and all the deep heaves as in sleep with vague expectancy then slowly up as in a cup see this poison swells the sea as through black glass wild mass on mass the town glows fiery red lit it glowers like hell's dark powers closed in the iron sea and monster forms and awful swarms wing round it cloudily still overhead the unseen dread whose shadow dies the sea the wrath winged wait behind its gate till god shall set it free an earthquake crash a talon flash low from sky to sea a swarded doom that stalks the gloom crowned with death's agony and where it burned a flame in earned blood red within the sea the phantasm of the dread above sits in immensity end of poem this recording is in the public domain under dark skies by madison k wine read for LibriVox.org by Nima hills rolled in woods that lair the lynx and fox harsh fields that lean before the woods advance as wild men fly from hunters tossing locks through which their eyes of yellow fire glance great blurs of briars and lugubrious rocks are bristling blackness with a pool beneath where or the wisp like something evil dance and then a house like the wrecked face of death there where the moon hang sinister or parched and haggard thorns a golden battle bow or shield of bronze old wars have scarred and scorched what crime hath cursed it who shall ever know night only night with flickering flame who torched that moment when blood branded black at sod and in the pool a ghastly face sank slow beneath the storm and rushing fire of god end of poem this recording is in the public domain Rembrandt's by madison k wine read for LibriVox.org by Nima I shall not soon forget her and her eyes the haunts of hate were suffering seem to write its stealthy name whose syllables are size and strange and starless night I shall not soon forget her and her face so quiet yet uneasy as a dream that stands on tiptoe in a haunted place and listens for a scream she made me feel as one alone may feel and some grand ghostly mansion of old time the presence of a treasure walls conceal and secret of a crime with lamb and faces mimicking the moon the water lilies lie dotting the darkness the long lagoon as stars the sky a face the whiteness of a water flower with pollen golden hair and shadow half half in the moonlight's clower lifts slowly there a young girl's face death makes mute marble of turned to the moon and me sad with a pathos of unspeakable love floating to sea one listening bent in dread of something coming he cannot flee nor balk a phantom footstep in the ghostly gloaming that haunts a ruined walk long has he given his whole heart's heart endeavor to labor dark and dawn dreaming that love still watched his toil and ever turned kindly eyes thereon now in his life he feels there nears an hour inevitable alas when in the darkness he shall cringe and cower and see his dead self pass and a poem this recording is in the public domain ghosts by madison k1 read for libravox.org by neema was it the strain of the waltz that repeating love so bewitched me or only the gleam there of the lusters that set my heart beating feeling your presence as one feels a dream for on a sudden the woman of fashion soft at my side in her diamonds and lace vanished and pale with reproach or with passion you my dead sweetheart looked up in my face music the nebulous lights and the sifting fragrance of women made amorous the air born of these three in my thought you came drifting clad in dim muslin arose in your hair there in the waltz the followed the lancers hard to my breast did i crush you and hold far through the stir and the throng of the dancers onward i bore you as often of old pale were your looks and the rose in your tresses paler of hue than the dreams we have lost who then i said is it sees who guesses here in the hall that i dance with a ghost gone and the dance and the music are ended gone and the raptures turned into sighs and on my arm in her elegant splendid the woman of fashion smiles up in my eyes had i forgotten and did she remember she who is dead whom i cannot forget she for whose sake all my heart is an ember covered with ashes of dreams and regret end poem this recording is in the public domain at midnight by madison call wine red for liver vox dot org at midnight in the tristine wood i wandered by the water side when soft as mist before me stood my sweetheart who had died but so unchanged was she me seemed that i had only dreamed her dead glad in her eyes the love light gleamed her lips were warm and red what though the stars shone shadowy through her form as by my side she went and by her feet no drop of dew was stirred no blade was bent what though through her white loveliness the wildflower dimmed the moonlight paled real to my touch she was no less than when the earth prevailed she took my hand my heart beat wild she kissed my mouth i bowed my head then gazing in my eyes she smiled when did this thou die she said end of poem this recording is in the public domain that night by madison quayne red for liver vox dot org by drosh kibby that night i sat listening as in a swoon with half closed eyes to far off bells low lolling as a tune that drifts and dies beneath the flowery fingers of the june harping to summer skies and then i dreamed the world i knew was gone and someone brought leading me far or sainted hill and lawn in heavenly thought my soul where well the sources of the dawn with dew and fire fraught above me the majestic dome of night with star on star sparkled in which one star shone blinding bright radiant a spar that walls the halls of mourning pearly white around her golden car about me temples vast and desert seas columned a land of ruins bones of old monstrosities god's awful hand had smitten homes of dead idolatries or wellmed with dust and sand their bestial gods caked thick with gems and gold their blasphemies of beauty rent made ruined altars rolled their agonies and rites abolished and their priests of old dust on the desert breeze then syrian valleys purple with veiling mist me seemed i trailed with a frail flowered by the dew drop kissed soft blushing quailed and drowned in dingled deeps of amethyst the moon mad bubble wailed on glimmering wolds i seemed to hear the bleed of folded flocks then shepherds passed me bare of head and feet and then an ox load and above me swept the solemn beat of angel wings and locks a manger then i seemed to see where bent an adoration above a babe and men of the orient where low of station his mother lay while round them swam sweet scent and sounds of jubilation and then i woke the rose white moon above bloomed on my sight and in her train the stars of winter drove light upon light while yuletide bells rocked peeling peace and love down all the aisles of night end of poem this recording is in the public domain