I do believe in ghosts, so many I have seen. Breath of a yellow rose can always bring to me The ghost of an old garden, near Lake Huron's shore, With tall weeds, sunshine, bird songs, and a poplar tree. This afternoon a ball, thrown by a neighbor boy, Fell on my quiet lawn. The sound brought back to me The ghosts of autumn days, when ripened apples fell In sunny orchards, like gifts from each loaded tree. Of course, against sad ghosts I try to lock my door, But, being ghosts, they will not be denied. They must come in, and spend a dreary hour with me, Till my heart aches with woe, and sometimes I have cried. When, underneath my feet, crisp snow is musical, The night sky a great tent of flashing frosty stars, Quite suddenly, by me there walks a gay, young ghost, Who steals a sweet cold kiss across the Past's old bars. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER TO LADY [MISS] MARGARET-CAVANDISH-HOLLES-HARLEY, WHEN A CHILD by MATTHEW PRIOR TO A PORTRAIT by ARTHUR WILLIAM SYMONS ON THE EPHEMERALNESS OF BEAUTY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE MORAL FABLES: THE SHEEP AND THE DOG by AESOP BRYANT'S BIRTHPLACE by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES CONCERT PARTY: BUSSEBOOM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE PRE-ADAMITE WORLD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT HOME, SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS: 3. FRANCIS BRET HARTE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER |