‘Ghost House’ By Robert Frost

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The Haunted House / Das Geisterhaus / Harald Hoyer

 

I dwell in a lonely house I know 
That vanished many a summer ago, 
   And left no trace but the cellar walls, 
   And a cellar in which the daylight falls 
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow. 

O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield 
The woods come back to the mowing field; 
   The orchard tree has grown one copse 
   Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops; 
The footpath down to the well is healed. 

I dwell with a strangely aching heart 
In that vanished abode there far apart 
   On that disused and forgotten road 
   That has no dust-bath now for the toad. 
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart; 

The whippoorwill is coming to shout 
And hush and cluck and flutter about: 
   I hear him begin far enough away 
   Full many a time to say his say 
Before he arrives to say it out. 

It is under the small, dim, summer star. 
I know not who these mute folk are 
   Who share the unlit place with me—
   Those stones out under the low-limbed tree 
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar. 

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad—
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
   With none among them that ever sings, 
   And yet, in view of how many things, 
As sweet companions as might be had.
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‘The Phantom Horsewoman’ By Thomas Hardy

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‘Horses In The Mist’ By Susanne Nilsson

 

I
Queer are the ways of a man I know:
He comes and stands
In a careworn craze,
And looks at the sands
And the seaward haze
With moveless hands
And face and gaze,
Then turns to go…
And what does he see when he gazes so?

II
They say he sees as an instant thing
More clear than to-day,
A sweet soft scene
That once was in play
By that briny green;
Yes, notes alway
Warm, real, and keen,
What his back years bring—
A phantom of his own figuring.

III
Of this vision of his they might say more:
Not only there
Does he see this sight,
But everywhere
In his brain—day, night,
As if on the air
It were drawn rose-bright—
Yea, far from that shore
Does he carry this vision of heretofore:

IV
A ghost-girl-rider. And though, toil-tried,
He withers daily,
Time touches her not,
But she still rides gaily
In his rapt thought
On that shagged and shaly
Atlantic spot,
And as when first eyed
Draws rein and sings to the swing of the tide.

 

 


		

‘The Second Sun’ By Akka Ballenger Constantin

The Second Sun By Akka Ballenger Constantin. It was that second sun who stole my heart....

 

For more about Akka visit planetakka.blogspot.com. Find her on Twitter @PlanetAkka and Instagram @drommeren. Check out her new projects ahatofmanydreams.blogspot.com & songsfrommygrasslands.blogspot.com.

‘Life Line’ By Akka Ballenger Constantin

Akka Ballenger Constantin

 

For more about Akka visit planetakka.blogspot.com. Find her on Twitter @PlanetAkka and Instagram @drommeren. Check out her new projects ahatofmanydreams.blogspot.com & songsfrommygrasslands.blogspot.com.

 

A Quote By Lewis Carrol

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From “A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky”

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A Quote By Hal Borland

A Quote By John Muir

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