Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

(1838-1912 / USA)

The Haunted House - Poem by Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

It stands neglected, silent, far from the ways of men,
A lonely little cottage beside a lonely glen;
And, dreaming there, I saw it when sunset's golden
Had touched it with the glory of other, sweeter days.

They say the house is haunted, and - well, it is, I
For every empty window just aches with loneliness;
With loneliness that tortures and memory that flays;
Ah, yes, the house is haunted with ghosts of other

The ghost of childish laughter rings on the narrow
And, from a silent corner, the murmur of a prayer
Steals out, and then a love song, and then a bugle
And steps that do not falter along the quiet hall.

The story of the old house that stands beside the
That story is forgotten by every one; but when
The house is touched and softened by sunset's golden
I know that ghosts must haunt it, the ghosts of
sweeter days.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, October 13, 2010

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