The Shadow Of Raggedstone Poem by Radclyffe Hall

The Shadow Of Raggedstone



O Raggedstone, you darksome hiU,
Your shadow fell for sure
Upon my own dear love and I,
Across the purple moor.

For we were such a happy pair,
The day we climbed your crest ;
And now my love she lays her head
Upon another's breast.

She sits beside another man,
And walks abroad with he,
And never sheds a single tear.
Or thinks a thought o' me !

My mind it seems a-fire like,
My heart's as cold as lead,
My prayers they dry upon my lips
And somehow won't get said.

I wish that I could lay me down,
Upon the dreary plain
That stretches out to Raggedstone,*
And never rise again !

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
* A legend is attached to Raggedstone Hill in Worcestershire. The Hill was cursed by a Benedictine Monk. From time to time a great shadow rises up from it, spreading across the surrounding country. Woe betide those on whom the shadow falls, as it brings with it terrible misfortune ! Many of the people living near Raggedstone still firmly believe in this legend.
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Radclyffe Hall

Radclyffe Hall

Bournemouth, Hampshire
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