Jean Blewett

(4 November 1872 - 1934 / Scotia, Lake Erie, Ontario)

The Ghosts Of Night - Poem by Jean Blewett

When we were children, long ago,
And crept to bed at close of day,
With backward glance and footstep slow,
Though all aweary with our play,
Do you remember how the room-
The little room with window deep-
Would fill with shadows and with gloom,
And fright us so we could not sleep?

For O! the things we see at night-
The dragons grim, the goblins tall,
And, worst of all, the ghosts in white
That range themselves along the wall!

We could but cover up our head,
And listen to our heart's wild beat-
Such dreadful things about our bed,
And no protection save a sheet!
Then slept, and woke quite unafraid.
The sun was shining, and we found
Our shadows and our ghosts all laid,
Our world a glorious playing-ground.

For O! the things we see at night-
The dragons grim, the goblins tall,
And, worst of all, the ghosts in white
That range themselves along the wall!

We are but children still, the years
Have never taught us to be bold,
For mark our trembling and our fears
When sometimes, as in days of old,
We in the darkness lie awake,
And see come stealing to our side
A ghostly throng-the grave Mistake,
The Failure big, the broken Pride.

For O! the things we see at night-
The dragons grim, the goblins tall,
And, worst of all, the ghosts in white
That range themselves along the wall!

How close they creep! How big they loom!
The Task which waits, the Cares which creep;
A child, affrighted in the gloom,
We fain would hide our head and weep.
When, lo! the coward fear is gone-
The golden sunshine fills the air,
And God has sent us with the dawn
The strength and will to do and dare.

For O! the things we see at night-
The dragons grim, the goblins tall,
And, worst of all, the ghosts in white
That range themselves along the wall!


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Poem Edited: Tuesday, May 8, 2012


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