The Lincoln Imp

How well it works! He has a holiday
From the unpleasant fire,
And makes more money for the town, they say,
Than all the Angel Choir.

Church of St. Faith, Kelstern

I

Without

A very devil's face grotesquely set
High on the hoary tower insults the skies
With black and swollen tongue outthrust, while yet
Strange terror drowns the mockery in his eyes.

II

Within

In ruff and farthingale the mother keeps
Three-centuried watch lest psalm or anthem fret
The quiet of her cradled child who sleeps
Lapt soft in alabaster coverlet.

Time parodies thy dimples, baby-face.
He mars the stone, but not the peace within.
Rest, little sleeper, in God's special grace;
Only the ages touch thee, not their sin.

South Somercotes Church

All hail, Queen of the Marsh!
We sailors from the foam
Dream not thy spire is grim and harsh,
The spire that guides us home.

Gargoyles of Grimoldby Church

Gross, brutal demons, struggling to escape
From holy sounds, with half the body out,
Half prisoned in the stone. Green lichens drape
Broad jowls, and weeds from monstrous shoulders sprout.

'Midst these, two portrait busts, antiquely ruffed
And capped, strain forth, the faces keen with strife.
Each head is plumed with grass, a ghostly tuft
Still quivering from that ancient rage of life.

Uphall Manor

Pale wraiths of long ago my quest pursued,
A story dim with time, a parchment rent.
I found boy husband and girl wife intent
Upon a cradle where a baby cooed.

The Lincolnshire Rebellion

From these poor wolds was Henry VIII defied.
The foolish people, grieving for the pains
Of monks, old neighbors, whose dismantled fanes
Dotted the marshes, rose, protested, died.