Elizabeth Virgins Raplee

O bony relic of forgotten days,Which, from my bookshelf, dominates the room,Your empty sockets, with sardonic gaze,Follow me weirdly in the deepening gloom!I often think, if sudden speech returned,You might reveal that secret, grisly jestYou're grinning at—or tell me what you've learnedOf that dark realm to which we're all addressed.By what rude hands were you exhumed, and whyWrenched... more...