Haunted by Louis Untermeyer

 

Between the moss and stone

The lonely lilies rise;

Wasted and overgrown

The tangled garden lies.

Weeds climb about the stoop

And clutch the crumbling walls;

The drowsy grasses droop—

The night wind falls.

The place is like a wood;

No sign is there to tell

Where rose and iris stood

That once she loved so well.

Where phlox and asters grew,

A leafless thornbush stands,

And shrubs that never knew

Her tender hands….

Over the broken fence

The moonbeams trail their shrouds;

Their tattered cerements

Cling to the gauzy clouds,

In ribbons frayed and thin—

And startled by the light

Silence shrinks deeper in

The depths of night.

Useless lie spades and rakes;

Rust’s on the garden-tools.

Yet, where the moonlight makes

Nebulous silver pools

A ghostly shape is cast—

Something unseen has stirred….

Was it a breeze that passed?

Was it a bird?

Dead roses lift their heads

Out of a grassy tomb;

From ruined pansy-beds

A thousand pansies bloom.

The gate is opened wide—

The garden that has been

Now blossoms like a bride….

Who entered in?