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The Haunted Homes of England,
How eerily they stand,
While through them flit their ghosts--to wit,
The Monk with the Red Hand,
The Eyeless Girl--an awful spook--
To stop the boldest breath,
The boy that inked his copybook,
And so got 'wopped' to death!
Call them not shams--from haunted Glamis
To haunted Woodhouselea,
I mark in hosts the grisly ghosts
I hear the fell Banshie!
I know the spectral dog that howls
Before the death of Squires;
In my 'Ghosts'-guide' addresses hide
For Podmore and for Myers!
I see the Vampire climb the stairs
From vaults below the church;
And hark! the Pirate's spectre swears!
O Psychical Research,
Canst Thou not hear what meets my ear,
The viewless wheels that come?
The wild Banshie that wails to thee?
The Drummer with his drum?
O Haunted Homes of England,
Though tenantless ye stand,
With none content to pay the rent,
Through all the shadowy land,
Now, Science true will find in you
A sympathetic perch,
And take you all, both Grange and Hall,
For Psychical Research!
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