Benét, William Rose. Devil's Blood. (Second Film in "Films," in "The Burglar of the Zodiac.")
. . . Down the path—
Is it but shadow?—steals a thread of wrath,
A red bright thread. It reaches him. He reels.
Wet! Warm! Wily athwart his step it steals
And stains his white court footgear, toes to heels.
Brooke, Rupert. Dead Men's Love. (In his Collected Poems. 1918.)
There was a damned successful Poet.
There was a Woman like the sun.
And they were dead. They did not know it.
They did not know their time was done.
—— Hauntings.
So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams,
Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams.
Burnet, Dana. Ballad of the Late John Flint. (In his Poems. 1915.)
The Bridegroom smiled a twisted smile,
"The wine is strong," he said.
The Bride she twirled her wedding ring
Nor lifted up her head;
And there were three at John Flint's board,
And one of them was dead.
Campbell, William Wilfred. The Mother. (In John W. Garvin's Canadian Poets and Poetry.)
I dreamed that a rose-leaf hand did cling;
Oh, you cannot bury a mother in spring!
. . . . . . . .
I nestled him soft to my throbbing breast,
And stole me back to my long, long rest.