{"id":695,"date":"2010-10-12T00:14:45","date_gmt":"2010-10-12T00:14:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/?p=695"},"modified":"2010-10-12T00:14:45","modified_gmt":"2010-10-12T00:14:45","slug":"ghost-house-by-robert-frost","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/ghost-house-by-robert-frost\/","title":{"rendered":"Ghost House by Robert Frost"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>
\nGhost House by Robert Frost<\/p>\n

I dwell in a lonely house I know
\nThat vanished many a summer ago,
\nAnd left no trace but the cellar walls,
\nAnd a cellar in which the daylight falls,
\nAnd the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
\nO’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
\nThe woods come back to the mowing field;
\nThe orchard tree has grown one copse
\nOf new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
\nThe footpath down to the well is healed.
\nI dwell with a strangely aching heart
\nIn that vanished abode there far apart
\nOn that disused and forgotten road
\nThat has no dust-bath now for the toad.
\nNight comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
\nThe whippoorwill is coming to shout
\nAnd hush and cluck and flutter about:
\nI hear him begin far enough away
\nFull many a time to say his say
\nBefore he arrives to say it out.
\nIt is under the small, dim, summer star.
\nI know not who these mute folk are
\nWho share the unlit place with me?
\nThose stones out under the low-limbed tree
\nDoubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
\nThey are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
\nThough two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,?
\nWith none among them that ever sings,
\nAnd yet, in view of how many things,
\nAs sweet companions as might be had.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ghost House by Robert Frost 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;…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[84,112],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-695","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1900s","category-frost"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t