Haunted Houses
All
houses wherein men have lived and died
Are
haunted houses. Through the open doors
The
harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With
feet that make no sound upon the floors.
We meet
them at the door-way, on the stair,
Along
the passages they come and go,
Impalpable
impressions on the air,
A sense
of something moving to and fro.
There
are more guests at table than the hosts
Invited;
the illuminated hall
Is
thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As
silent as the pictures on the wall.
The
stranger at my fireside cannot see
The
forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but
perceives what is; while unto me
All
that has been is visible and clear.
We have
no title-deeds to house or lands;
Owners
and occupants of earlier dates
From
graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
And
hold in mortmain still their old estates.
The
spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats
like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts
through these earthly mists and vapours dense
A vital
breath of more ethereal air.
Our
little lives are kept in equipoise
By
opposite attractions and desires;
The
struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
And the
more noble instinct that aspires.
These
perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of
earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come
from the influence of an unseen star
An
undiscovered planet in our sky.
And as
the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws
o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across
whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into
the realm of mystery and night,—
So from
the world of spirits there descends
A
bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er
whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander
our thoughts above the dark abyss.
Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow (1858)
Enjoy Halloween 2013
Grandma Snyder
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