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.

Added: on May 7th, 2009 at 1:42 AM | Viewed: 68369 times | Comments (57)

Poet: Robert Frost (Robert Frost Art)
Poem: 2. Ghost House
Volume: A Boy's Will
Year: Published/Written in 1913
Poem of the Day: Dec 13 2006

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Ghost House, has received 57 comments. Click here to read them, and perhaps post a comment of your own. Of course you can also always discuss poems by Robert Frost with others on the American Poems poetry forum!