David Lewis Paget Poems

Anon has writ but many a good verse
From village, fields and fens,
But none so cruel as that he wrote
About Sir Patrick Spens.
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Coopers Creek where the cattle cross
Is a settlement, not a town,
The old stone huts of the pioneers
Still grace the stony ground,
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There are men who meet their one true love
There are men who never do,
And I must admit I was one of these
‘Til the day that I met you,
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There are places in the country where
No people show their face,
There are warrens, there are spinneys
There are copses beyond trace,
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How did I lose you, I confess
It couldn’t be love, but carelessness,
I thought the years in their passing might
Be spent in caring, and bind us tight.
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My mistress, Annabelle de la Plante
Was the Duchess of faint heart,
She was always prone to the vapours
And would faint at a passing cart,
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Near the village of Camberwell
And down a dusty track,
There stood an ancient building
Half in ruin, half intact,
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The Waxworks of Nathaniel Trask
Had an entrance that was grim,
Beneath a couple of arches
There were gargoyles, looking in.
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I’d never believed in the living dead
In the movies of the time,
Though the wife curled up in a foetal ball
At zombies, covered in slime,
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I’d been on my own for so many years
That my heart had turned to stone,
It must have shown in my miserable face
For the women left me alone,
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