IF-Ghost

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.
-Ghost House, by Robert Frost