A Ghost, by Rupert Moreton It’s early, but the hanging globes /
Of rasping street-lamps glow are spitting, /
More gayly, brightly, falling strobes /
Of snowflakes’ glintin...
The Ghost, by Yevgeny Bonver They scrape — the hanging lanterns’ balls, /
Which had been lighted so early. /
The snow flakes, in their by-falls, /
Shine brighter and more fe...
The specter, by Daniel Weissbort In the early evening, the suspended bowls /
Of the pale street lamps grate. /
Brighter and more festive grows /
The whirling spray of flakes.
A...