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Robert Frost - Ghost House

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 1st, 2007 at 12:05 PM | Viewed: 58337 times | Comments and analysis of Ghost House by Robert Frost Comments (51)


Ghost House - Comments and Information

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

Comment 51 of 51, added on February 29th, 2008 at 12:09 AM.

Robert in this poem represented the Amrican poeple who were at that time feeling lonly . I think because they were from different countries and this makes them losing communication with each other and accordingly feel lonly .

Rana S. from Saudi Arabia
Comment 50 of 51, added on August 12th, 2007 at 7:27 PM.

It has been quite some time since I have read this piece. The poem haunts me still,in a subtle way, as it should and was intended. Live now, reflect, appreciate, and learn. All fires eventually burn out leaving charred dust and ashes in the silent cold night where they once were. Frost took the time too analize many facets of life and I'm grateful for all his efforts including this one.

eric chestnut from United States
Comment 49 of 51, added on May 1st, 2007 at 12:05 PM.

this is a great poem and it is amazing

BB from United States

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