Subtle Monsters Creep

Wild thoughts are always flying, 5

Like sparks across my brain,

Now flashing out, now dying,

To kindle soon again.

 

Fine fancies set me thrilling,

And subtle monsters creep 10

Before my sight unwilling:

They even haunt my sleep.

 

One broad, perpetual riot

Enfolds me night and day.

You think my life is quiet? 15

You don’t know what you say.

 

Gamaliel Bradford (1863–1932). The Riot.

William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962).

Anthology of Massachusetts Poets. 1922.

Done