Delving Into Magical Realism, Mysterious Hexes, and Enchanting Verses

In the realm of poetry, there exists a magical and enchanting subgenre that dances with the mystical, weaves words into spells, and draws readers into a place of otherworldly wonders. In this article, we’ll explore the subgenre of witchy poems, where verses are imbued with hocus-pocus charm, rhythmic hexes, and a dash of the supernatural.

These poetic incantations evoke the mysteries of the arcane and transport us into the realm of magical realism. Prepare to be spellbound as we explore some of the most enchanting and bewitching verses in this captivating literary tradition.

“The Hour and the Ghost” by Christina Rossetti

O love, love, hold me fast,

He draws me away from thee;

I cannot stem the blast,

Nor the cold strong sea:

Far away a light shines

Beyond the hills and pines;

It is lit for me.

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“Witch-Wife” by Edna St. Vincent Millay

She is neither pink nor pale,

And she never will be all mine;

She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,

And her mouth on a valentine.

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“The White Witch” by James Weldon Johnson

O brothers mine, take care! Take care!

The great white witch rides out to-night.

Trust not your prowess nor your strength,

Your only safety lies in flight;

For in her glance there is a snare,

And in her smile there is a blight.

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“The Witch” by Elizabeth Willis

A witch will gaze wistfully at the glitter of a clear night.

A witch may take the form of a cat in order to sneak into a good man’s chamber.

A witch’s breasts will be pointed rather than round, as discovered in the trials of the 1950s.

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“The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

            Nameless here for evermore.

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“To the Dead in the Graveyard Underneath My Window” by Adelaide Crapsey

How can you lie so still? All day I watch

And never a blade of all the green sod moves

To show where restlessly you toss and turn,

And fling a desperate arm or draw up knees

Stiffened and aching from their long disuse;

I watch all night and not one ghost comes forth

To take its freedom of the midnight hour.

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“The Witch” by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge