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Sappho, v. 1, issue 4, March 1944
Page 13
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SAPPHO - - the magazine of verse THEY WAIT OUTSIDE At night when I have gone to bed, those things - - I know not what - - come scratching at my walls. I hear the beat of giant, bat-like wings. I hear the honey-sweetness of their calls; They try to lure me out with pleasant sounds; But I lie frightened, yearning for a light. And then I hear the baying of the hounds, That ghostly pack that hunts me every night. They wait outside, those things, as grim as death. Where are they from? I hardly dare to think; Enough for me to totter on the brink Of madness, while my very soul grows numb; For some night they will call - - and I will come! James Russell Gray 13
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SAPPHO - - the magazine of verse THEY WAIT OUTSIDE At night when I have gone to bed, those things - - I know not what - - come scratching at my walls. I hear the beat of giant, bat-like wings. I hear the honey-sweetness of their calls; They try to lure me out with pleasant sounds; But I lie frightened, yearning for a light. And then I hear the baying of the hounds, That ghostly pack that hunts me every night. They wait outside, those things, as grim as death. Where are they from? I hardly dare to think; Enough for me to totter on the brink Of madness, while my very soul grows numb; For some night they will call - - and I will come! James Russell Gray 13
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