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Inspirerad av GHOST HOUSE by ROBERT FROST

Jag vistas i ett ensamt hus
jag känner

under mig källarväggarna,
där fukten faller

på vilda hallon

utanför

förstörda staket lyfter vinrankorna
som skärmar skogen,
som vill överfalla slåtterfältet.

Fruktträdet har vuxit till sig
nytt trä och gammalt.
Gångstigen ner till brunnen
är plåstrad av tuvigt gräs.

Jag bor nu här

nedslagen i en fåtölj
i det försvunna huset.

Natten kommer;
de svarta fladdermössen
tumlar och saxar

som tillfälliga samtalspartners.

GHOST HOUSE by ROBERT FROST
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

Over ruined fences the grapevines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field,
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops,
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

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.




Skapa | Skriva av Den filosofiske poeten VIP
Läst 19 gånger
Publicerad 2021-04-30 21:08



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