Thursday, July 28, 2011

Ghost House

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.

Robert Frost


Autumnforest said...

Oh, shivers and enjoyment. You are giving me such a good escape for when I take respites from writing a zombie novel. I come here and I tap back into the original horrors that started me on the path to horror writing. Mood, atmosphere, tension...

Samhain Moon said...

Your mood-setting is the best.

I love the literary extracts you post here!