Far spread below doth London wear, its cloud by day, its fire by night, yet scarce with heavenly presence there shined in the smoke or pallid light.

Dappled ashen stone replete with twisting vines and dripping moss riddles the gentle nooks and slopes of Highgate Hill,

lacerated by reposeful meandering pathways.

Like a Gothic bazaar presenting wares to pass her by, tombs, sculptures, headstones, obelisks, and angels stand dutifully, nestled within a dense

quilt of trees, flowers, and shrubs.

Mausoleums huddled together among architecture of various entrancing exotic styles.

One moment you're in ancient Egypt, another ancient Rome.

Incessant troops from that vast throng withdraw to silent colonies, where houses low are fair and strong,

though ruins all that dwell in these.

The air and atmosphere are old here.

Though its inhabitants draw breath no more, history is alive and palpable.

Shadowed and hushed a world within a world.

The silence of tens of thousands of souls speaks volumes to those who pause and pay attention.

Yet within this hallowed hidden haven,

not every soul is said to rest in peace.

Strange phantoms, black magic, anomalous mists, and a spade of vampire hysteria have seemingly

plagued this otherwise sublime necropolis for ages, prompting people to ask,

is this a beautiful parcel of perfect land for the dead, or an area of ominous oddness where the dead aren't quite as quiet as we think.

Yet neat the universal sky, bright children here too run and sing.

Calm Verder waxes green and high, and graveside roses smell of Spring.

In Highgate Cemetery by William Allingham.

We're visiting Highgate Cemetery on this episode of Blurry Fotober.

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