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Her Kind
By Anne Sexton
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
Haunting the black air, braver at night;
Dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
Over the plain houses, light by light:
Lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
Filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
Closets, silks, innumerable goods;
Fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
Waved my arms at villages going by,
Learning the last bright routes, survivor
Where your flames still bite my thigh,
And my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

The Haunted Palace
By Edgar Allan Poe
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenated,
Once a fair and stately palace -
Radiant palace - reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion,
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow
(This - all this - was in the olden
Time long ago),
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting,
Porphyrogene!
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing,
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkled evermore,
A troops of Echoes, whose sweet duty,
Was but sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn! - for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travelers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast form that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh - but smile no more.

*I DID NOT MAKE THESE POEMS, SO I CANNOT TAKE ANY CREDIT.