Classic Poem

Strange; for it is not long since her white form
Lay in my arms, and all the lights burnt dim
In the old haunted chamber, weird and warm,
And no ghosts tortured the entwining limb,
Nor any ghouls of the charnel dared to swarm
Round that sweet Sister of the Seraphim.
Strange that the Authorities did not find in her face
And figure quicker passport to the surface.