 Halloween by Virna Sherd RedfullyBrivox.org by Anne Fletcher Tasmania 2019 There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the Feast of the Dead when for a day only the sound of the miserere is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night, they say, when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day. And the dead remembered, I long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content, oh souls we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark. Hush! Was it a sigh? Or the painted vine leaves that rustled by? Or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Werner Scheerd. Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachok. There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the Missouri is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! Tis the night they say when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day, and the dead remembered I, long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content, O souls we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark. Hush! Was it a sigh, or the painted vine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? And a poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Verna Scheerd. Read for LibriVox.org by Caitlin Buckley. There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the Missouri is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! Tis the night they say, when all souls come back from the far away, the dead forgotten this many a day. And the dead remembered, I long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content, O souls we know, since the day you went, from this time-worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark. Hush! Was it a sigh? Or the painted vine leaves that rustled by? Or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Verna Scheerd, read for liberfox.org by Chad Horner from Liverpool. There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the Missouri is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark! to the wind, tis the night they say, when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day, and the dead remembered I long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Ashfordale. Have you reached the country of all content, O souls we know, since the day you went, from this time-worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then on rabble life's tangle again? I lean to the dark hush, was it a sigh, or the pint of vine-leaves, that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Verna Scheerd, read for liberfox.org by David Lawrence. There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved feast of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while, and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead. When for a day only the sound of the miserare is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! Tis the night, they say, when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day. And the dead remembered I, long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content, O souls we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark. Hush! Was it a sigh? Or the painted vine-leaves that rustled by? Or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Werner Scheerd, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the Miserere is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! Tis the night, they say, when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day, and the dead remembered I, long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Aswedale. Have you reached the country of all content, O souls we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, this sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I leaned to the dark, hush! Was it a sigh? Were the painted vine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Have a very spooky Halloween. There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the Miserere is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! Tis the night, they say, when all souls come back from the far away, the dead, forgotten this many a day. And the dead remembered, A, long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Aswedale. Have you reached the country of all content, O souls we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world, where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark, hush! Was it a sigh? Or the painted vine leaves that rustled by? Or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Verna Sheard Read for LibriVox.org by Garth Burton There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when, for a day only, the sound of the miseriae is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night, they say, when all souls of the dead Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night, they say, when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day. And the dead remembered, I, long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content? Oh, souls, we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent. Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I leaned to the dark. Hush! Was it a sigh, or the painted vine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the miserare is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night, they say, when all souls come back from the far away, the dead forgotten this many a day, and the dead remembered, I long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content? Oh, souls, we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent. Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark. Hush! Was it a sigh, or the painted vine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Werner Scheerd Read for LibriVox.org by Graham Scott, Cheltenham, England GrahamScottAudio.com There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the misere is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night they say when all souls come back from the far away, the dead forgotten as many a day. And the dead remembered, I long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content, oh souls we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark, hush, was it a sigh, or the painted vine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Verna Sheared Read for LibraVox.org by Jack Davie There is an old Italian legend which says it on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, and for a day only the sound of Missouri is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark, hark to the wind, tis the night they say, when all souls come back from far away. The dead forgotten this many a day, and the dead remembered, I long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content? Zero souls we know, since the day you went from this, time one world, where your years were spent. Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark, hush, was it a sigh, or the painted fine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when, for a day only, the sound of the Missa Rear is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark, hark to the wind, tis the night they say, when all souls come back from far away. The dead forgotten this many a day, and the dead remembered, I long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content, oh souls we know, since the day you went from this time worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark, hush, was it a sigh, or the painted fine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Verna Scheerd. Read for LibriVox.org by Cassie. There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the Misrere is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! Tis the night, they say, when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day. And the dead remembered a long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content, oh souls we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark, hush, was it a sigh, or the painted vine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The dead forgotten this many a day. And the dead remembered a long and well, and the dead remembered a long and well, and the dead remembered a long and well, and the painted vine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The dead remembered a long and well, and the painted vine leaves that rustled by, was it a sigh, or the painted vine leaves that rustled by, or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Verna Scheerd Read for LibriVox.org by Nan Dodge There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to Earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the misery ray is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night they say, when all souls come back from the far away, the dead forgotten this many a day. And the dead remembered a long and well, children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content, oh souls we know, since the day you went, from this time-worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark, hush! Was it a sigh? Were the painted vine-leaves that rustled by, or only a night-bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Verna Scheerd Read for LibriVox.org by Phil Chenevere There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to Earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when for a day only the sound of the miserere is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night they say when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day, and the dead remembered, ah, long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Aspadel. Have you reached the country of all content, oh souls, we know, since the day you went from this time worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark hush. Was it a sigh? Are the painted vine leaves that rustled by? Are only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead when for a day only the sound of the miserere is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night they say when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day, and the dead remembered, aye, long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content, o souls we know, since the day you went from this time worn world where your years were spent? Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, and then unravel life's tangle again? I lean to the dark, hush, was it a sigh, or the painted vine leaves that rustled by, or only a night of birds echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween. The souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead. When, for a day only, the sound of the miserere is heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night they say when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day, and the dead remembered, aye, long and well, the little children whose spirit dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Have you reached the country of all content? O souls we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent. Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, this thing we call pain, and unravel life's tangle again? I lean into the dark, hush, was it a sigh, or the painted vine leaves that rustled by, only a night bird's echoing cry. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Halloween by Werner Scheerd Read for LibriVox.org by Thomas Peter There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of the beloved festival of all saints, Halloween, the souls of the dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. The feast of all saints is followed by the feast of the dead, one for a day only. The sound of the miseraries heard throughout the cities of Italy. Hark! Hark to the wind! It is the night, they say, when all souls come back from the far away. The dead forgotten this many a day. And the dead remembered. They die long and well, and the little children whose spirits dwell in God's green garden of Asphodel. Hell, you reached the country of all content. See our souls we know, since the day you went from this time-worn world where your years were spent. Would you come back to the sun and the rain, the sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain and then unravel life's tangle again? I leaned to the dark. Hush! Was it a sigh? Or the painted vine leaves that rustled by? Or only a night bird's echoing cry? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.