A diaphanous shape halts a man in his tracks as he wends through a fen (image via The British Library)

Fen Phantom

Sorry to disturb you

But you're treading on my gown.

I know it's nearly midnight

And not to make you frown,

Though I see you start in terror

Not at all my fiendish plan!

Why do you shriek with panic?

I'm not a ghost, you silly man!

All right, I am a phantom

But altogether more refined!

Ghosts will only spook you,

Whereas I will steal your kind!

You tread my fens without regard

And never think to look behind.

A woman lost without a cost

Has vengeance on her mind...

So if you cross the fens tonight

Ask for pardon, ask for grace;

Or come the wan dawn light

We'll ne'er more see your face.

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