The only ghost I ever saw
Was dressed in mechlin, —so;
He wore no sandal on his foot,
And stepped like flakes of snow.
His gait was soundless, like the bird,
But rapid, like the roe;
His fashions quaint, mosaic,
Or, haply, mistletoe.
His conversation seldom,
His laughter like the breeze
That dies away in dimples
Among the pensive trees.
Our interview was transient, —
Of me, himself was shy;
And God forbid I look behind
Since that appalling day!
~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Ah! Emily! A poetess for all seasons!
ReplyDeletePerfect Halloween post, FT.
Certainly a unique figure in the world of letters, AOW.
ReplyDeleteGhostly laughter dying away like dimples among the pensive trees.
"Stepped like flakes of snow."
Some find her poems cryptic. To me they have always been intimately evocative -- atmospheric.
Decidedly haunting in any event.
Ah Hallowe'en ... high times for celebration in the books of demonic Satanism!
ReplyDeleteHalloween is whatever you want to make of it, Waylon.
ReplyDeleteNothing exists outside the realm of Mind anyway.
That's why it's a good idea to dwell on Beauty, Logic, Order, Virtue, Affection and strive to see everything from a HUMOROUS perspective.
RIght now, we are suffering dreadfully from the tendency of a segment of humanity to take itself and its ideas MUCH too seriously.
Never forget Horace Walpoles sage observation:
"Life is a tragedy to him who feels, but a comedy to him who thinks."