Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
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Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.

Where entity and quiddity,
The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly.

Where entity and quiddity,
The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly.

A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
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A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.

What are these,
So withered and so wild in their attire
That took not like th' inhabitants read more

What are these,
So withered and so wild in their attire
That took not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth
And yet are on't?

The unexpected disappearance of Mr. Canning from the scene,
followed by the transient and embarrassed phantom of Lord
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The unexpected disappearance of Mr. Canning from the scene,
followed by the transient and embarrassed phantom of Lord
Goderich.

For spirits when they please
Can either sex assume, or both.

For spirits when they please
Can either sex assume, or both.

So many ghosts, and forms of fright,
Have started from their graves to-night,
They have driven sleep read more

So many ghosts, and forms of fright,
Have started from their graves to-night,
They have driven sleep from mine eyes away;
I will go down to the chapel and pray.

What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth read more

Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the churchway paths to glide.