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His heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless!—but his horror was still more increased on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle!–Washinton Irving (The Legend of Sleepy Hollow)

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She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she gaz’d and sighed deep,

And there I shut her wild sad eyes So kiss’d to sleep.

And there we slumber’d on the moss,

And there I dream’d, ah woe betide!—

The latest dream I ever dream’d On the cold hill side.’ –John Keats (La Belle Dame Sans Merci)