“Haunted Houses” (1858)
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 doorway, 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 vapors 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.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 10:08 AM UTC
“Haunted Houses” (1858)
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 doorway, 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 vapors 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.
In honor of this "spooky" season, I bring before you one of Longfellow's excellent poems. I am now thinking of writing my own "ghosts" poem about our family home in Montana. Whenever I go there, I can hear and see my long gone family members. Each place on the old farmstead carries memories. Perhaps you, too, have such recollections that haunt you in sweet or for bitter memory.
Request permission to use this poem