"We do not know what happens to us when we die, or where we go, or how we get there. And if we come back...we do not know how that occurs either. I reiterate that we know nothing about these things, which have puzzled mankind since the beginnings of time. Of course, there are theories, and the most brilliant intellects have, for hundreds of years, been trying to solve the problems. They have not succeeded." ~Harry Price
McMurder's Paranormal Blog
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Coming up!
Hello everyone! The start of the week has been somewhat crazy, so I have not been able to sit down and post what I have wanted to this week. But, Hopefully tonight or tomorrow I will post a new post! So I am sorry for the absence this week. STAY TUNED!
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Happy Birthday Mr. Stoker
Happy Birthday to one of the best authors of our time, Bram Stoker. Thank you Mr. Stoker for your amazing contribution to the literature community.
I also like the Google graphic for the day!
I also like the Google graphic for the day!
Friday, November 2, 2012
The Sleeper
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin moulders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!—and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!
Oh, lady bright! can it be right—
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop—
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully—so fearfully—
Above the closed and fringéd lid
’Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid,
That, o’er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come o’er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress!
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!
The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
Forever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!
My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold—
Some vault that oft hath flung its black
And wingéd pannels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o’er the crested palls
Of her grand family funerals—
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portals she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone—
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne’er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)