The Garden of Urns

In my chamber apprehensive, where my humours shivered pensive
Came a thought that grew intensive as the hour onward pressed,
And gazing long at my window I prayed in hope her face would show,
Pink-flushed amidst the winter's snow, alive with her infectious zest.
But a night some length ago had seen my lady venture West -
How I now missed her sweet caress.

The portrait smiling o'er the fire held the look of something dire,
Mocking me who gazed upon the sultry look of loving jest.
What her secrets, what her fate?  My mind pondered this 'til late,
Causing me a grave debate about the myst'ry she possessed,
And finally I made to leave with troubled nerves within my breast,
So urgently the matter pressed.

Although I'd searched for her before I had not made this latest tour,
Inspired no doubt by local lore that told of where there was distress -
A monor that no one could see, surrounded in dense mystery,
Found only in a reverie when one's own thoughts were ill depressed,
And in this listless state of mind I knew that this described me best -
Without her, I was less.

The snaking branches held me back as though to stop me in my track,
The dim-lit forestry made black as in the night time's strict bequest.
Yet still I stepped through iron gates whilst in my veins my blood
                                                                           pulsates
Intruding on this strange estate when all about me are at rest.
There is no trembling of the hand as in my mind my fear's surpressed
The nature of this fearful quest.

And knowing I should fear the worst when my eyes met the coach-
                                                                     drawn hearse
I spoke a word of Christian verse to warn the devil to digress,
Yet even as I spoke in turn a sight made my ill stomach churn;
The sight of upturned, broken urns lay scattered in forgotten mess,
A vision of neglect and waste that spoke to me of death's distress -
The sight of pure forsaken rest.

And hidden half by crawling weeds I heard a plaintive melody
From out a chiming revellry that stood abandoned to the West;
A teahouse that still served its ghosts in absence of its living hosts,
But now used chiefly in the most to house all manner of infest -
The eaves and windows strewn about with wistful webs and dried
                                                                         birds'-nests
That gave macabre dress.

The manor lit on distant hill, despite the season, settled still
Within the winter's ghastly chill that in the darkness manifests.
And though these lights did draw me near there was no movement
                                                                      I could hear;
No sounds of happy party cheer that innocence could quick suggest.
The eerie silence of the night in cold moonshine had quick impressed
That this place was now at rest.

And the sweeping gentle sighing of the wind sounded like crying,
Warning that my urgent prying would not go here unnoticed,
So exercising sudden caution seemed to be the best precaution,
Hiding me from the distortion that this manor was oppressed.
I could not quite quell the feeling pulsing deep within my breast
That this manor was oppressed.

I wondered if my love had been in such great awe of what she'd seen
As in the moonlight I could glean the grinning bat-like family crest
And with gravely nervous warnings in my mind, her voice still calling,
My footsteps gently falling through the leaves and moss could not
                                                                                attest
My presence here or any sign that I was an unwelcome guest -
I left no trace of my access.

The moonlight kissed nocturnal grey and shew a place in disarray,
The moaning sweep and shifting sway came as a voice that life
                                                                         detests;
"Your presence here is not required"; the throaty tone in mist was
                                                                            mired,
And thus the meaning soon transpired that I should not assume a jest
Neither was this ghoul's  command imbibed within a host's request,
For I was not a welcomed guest.

"Those who stray here without pardon shall not find peace in my
                                                                        garden -
I think not your resolve will harden with this warning firmly stressed:
The final hour comes too fast for those who linger in the past
And therefore should your visit last your actions you cannot redress.
Take your thoughts from off your sweetheart and your form from out
                                                                  my land, lest
Your spirit forsakes rest."

And as sudden as it started this foul phantom had departed,
Leaving me a wretch half-parted from the courage I'd possessed.
Somewhere 'midst the darkened stones there lay my lover's earthly
                                                                                bones,
And knowing that she slept alone I could not leave her in cold rest,
In dirt-filled catacombs, in sepulcres where worms molest
Lay her corpse in stiff distress.

Continuing my dreadful pry I heard a mourning banshee's cry,
A cry such as would terrify and make my heart freeze in my breast.
And rushing movement caught my sight as brought up in a sombre
                                                                           light
I saw a withered corpse take flight and hover to the brambled West -
Her empty sockets saw through me a feeling I could not digest,
As state where horror made conquest.

I turned at once in sudden fear that my sweet love should so appear -
A twisted wailing tongue-black leer that moaned that I had come too
                                                                              late;
And with her ash-grey bloodless claws she sends me tumbling to the
                                                                               floor,
With nery a falter nor a pause she pulls me to my airless fate;
"You should have listened close when you stepped through those iron
                                                                                gates.
Now with me: eternal wait."