Poems (Forrest)/Goblin time

by Mabel Forrest

GOBLIN TIME

Before the stars have found their way
 With twinkling wicks about the sky,
And when the big red staring sun
 Has winked to let the ghosts get by,
Oh, keep to the veranda steps,
 For where the yellow grass was shorn
You yet may hear the goblin feet
 Like rustling leaves across the lawn!

Before the twilight monks have told
 Their beads of every glimmering pool;
Before the shearer of the clouds
 Has clipped away the ragged wool;
And ere the stars their lanterns hang
 On Heaven's fence in silver rime
And all the earth is turning grey,
 Keep near the door—it's goblin time!

In goblin time, the iron tank—
 A harmless creature in its way—
Grows like some awful giant's head
 That crouched behind our house all day.
The clothes-line hanging in the yard
 With fluttering humble things upon,
Has changed into a gallows tree
 That holds a dangling skeleton.

And in the bushes where you played
 The jasmine, deutzia, or rose,
That knew but butterfly and bee,
 Some puffing, unseen dragon blows.
The quince hedge is no hedge at all—
 Where you could cut a friendly switch—
But with a screen of leaf it hides
 A broomstick trotting for a witch.

The grape-vine trellis, where you left
 Your top and ball: You wouldn't dare—
It is so black and quivering—
 To go to seek your treasure there.
For all the cold and secret hands
 That have the ghost-hour in their grip
Would follow you. And just suppose
 Your knees should fail; your foot should slip.

You're brave enough. Of course you are!
 You swam right over the lagoon,
You crossed the paddock, when the bull
 Was bellowing—But that was noon. . .
The fowl-house—all that glimmering white
 That seemed to-day like streaks of lime—
Those are the bones of murdered boys.
 Oh, run inside! . . . It's goblin time!