Edgar Allan Poe's Idea of Spring

An isle, like a leaf on a stagnant tarn,
Sleeps on the liquescent sea;
The brooding waters around it crawl
Like gnawing worms o’er a tree;
Like the writhing blood-red worms of Spring
At feast on a Spring-time tree.
The filmy air enshrouds this isle,
The woodlands are dank and cool;
No Zephyr fondles the cypress boughs,
Nor sweeps the scum from a pool;
No bird-note wakes the putrescent marsh,
There is only the laugh of a Ghoul
In his Spring-time sport with a Will o’ the Wisp, —
A chuckling, midnight Ghoul;
In his dalliance here with a Will o’ the Wisp, —
A blood-bedabbled Ghoul.