The Graveyard Rabbit

The Graveyard Rabbit 

by

Frank Lebby Stanton

In the white moonlight, where the willow waves,  

He halfway gallops among the graves—  

A tiny ghost in the gloom and gleam,  

Content to dwell where the dead men dream,  

But wary still!         

For they plot him ill;  

For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm  

(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.  

Over the shimmering slabs he goes—  

Every grave in the dark he knows;         

But his nest is hidden from human eye  

Where headstones broken on old graves lie.  

Wary still!  

For they plot him ill;  

For the graveyard rabbit, though sceptics scoff,          

Charmeth the witch and the wizard off!  

The black man creeps, when the night is dim,  

Fearful, still, on the track of him;  

Or fleetly follows the way he runs,  

For he heals the hurts of the conjured ones.          

Wary still!  

For they plot him ill;  

The soul’s bewitched that would find release,—  

To the graveyard rabbit go for peace!  

He holds their secret—he brings a boon          

Where winds moan wild in the dark o’ the moon;  

And gold shall glitter and love smile sweet  

To whoever shall sever his furry feet!  

Wary still!  

For they plot him ill;         

For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm  

(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.

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