Alas, thou poor September ghosts,
in legions come to walk the earth
with all the saints this hallowed night!
In numbers to amaze the hosts
of angels do you come, a crowd
arisen from atrocity.
Seared souls! Usurped at once of life
by striking Serpents, cutting short
your eager hours in the Garden.
Oh, do you come, so newly shrouded
in white smoke, to mock the masks
and clever costumes of the night
and chide inconsequential goblins?
Or do you come to pique our souls
and prime our will to take revenge,
so we--unlike that Prince of Denmark--
stay a course of action fixed
more hard than rivets into steel.
Oh, stay! Yet hover here! Do not
depart with rooster's beckon to
the dawn, but roam forever o'er
the hearts of men--that time may be
rehallowed--and your spirits freed.