Explore "Ghost House" by Edwina Stanton Babcock on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I had always felt contented about that ghost, / There in her vine-shrouded house aside of the road; / I knew that the rag-stuffed panes were her special boast, / That she liked the tumble-down chimney of her abode; / She liked that old hat that hung in the tree in the lane, / And the scarecrow leaves that dribbled around in the rain; / The ivy that muffled the sills, a ghost would adore, / And she revelled in cobwebs the twisted staircase wore.
"The dear, mild thing," I thought, "she's the only one / In this glittering, piece-work world that can run a home; / No wonder the birds to her leaf-hung windows come, / No wonder the black mole tunnels the garden loam; / And there is revelry under her knotted boards / Where wild kittens hide and the grey squirrels rattle their hoards."