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by Cristel Hastings
published in WEIRD TALES, November 1932
Veiled was the moon and gray the sea,
And white was the thing that stared at me,
For a dead man hung on a gallows tree—
Veiled was the moon and gray the sea.
Black was the hood they tied on his head
As he woke from sleep and left his bed,
Within that dread hour to hang dead—
Black was the hood they tied on his head.
Still was the room where the hangman stood
As quietly as a hangman could,
And little there seemed in this world of good—
Still was the room where the hangman stood.
Loud was the voice of the wind outside
Where trees bent low and a raging tide
Sobbed because a man had died—
Loud was the voice of the wind outside.
Dark is the room where the gallows stood,
Empty the limp and tear-wet hood,
And little is left in the night of good—
Dark is the room where the gallows stood.