Iris Tree

Sometimes, eerie poetry can be great fun to read. Just like Poe's short stories, the British Iris Tree's [1897-1968] poems often have a strange feeling about them--here's an excerpt from one poem, you can read more here:

Lulled are the dazzling colours of the day,

And mild the heavens, burnt out like an ash.

Hungry and strange along the shadowed dusk

Walks Melancholy, and with bitter mouth

Sucks the last juices from the sun's ripe fruit.

Now can I sing the sickly lines of love

And of love's failure, spell my sorrows out

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