31
Aug
2014
31
Aug
2014

jamesprocrastinates:

One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze.
Were not, as ‘twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.

I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away, 
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the 
   Sand.

I do not see why I should e’er turn back, 
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.

They would not find me changed from him
    they knew —
Only more sure of all I thought was true.

 — Robert Frost  ”Into My Own”

31
Aug
2014
pumpkinspiceandeverythingfall:

Robert Frost poem
31
Aug
2014

aebrk:

Dust of Snow

By Robert Frost

 

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

 

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

31
Aug
2014

unaffiliatedmagpie:

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. 

31
Aug
2014
There never was any heart truly great and generous, that was not also tender and compassionate.
Robert Frost
31
Aug
2014
He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.
Robert Frost, Wind and Window Flower
31
Aug
2014
didierleclair:

Tis the Last Rose of Summer by Thomas Moore
Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone: No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. (…)

didierleclair:

Tis the Last Rose of Summer by Thomas Moore

Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone:
No flower of her kindred,
No rose-bud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh. (…)

31
Aug
2014
Age saw two quiet children
Go loving by at twilight,
He knew not whether homeward,
Or outward from the village,
Or (chimes were ringing) churchward,
He waited, (they were strangers)
Till they were out of hearing
To bid them both be happy.
“Be happy, happy, happy,
And seize the day of pleasure.”
The age-long theme is Age’s.
‘Twas Age imposed on poems
Their gather-roses burden
To warn against the danger
That overtaken lovers
From being overflooded
With happiness should have it.
And yet not know they have it.
But bid life seize the present?
It lives less in the present
Than in the future always,
And less in both together
Than in the past. The present
Is too much for the senses,
Too crowding, too confusing-
Too present to imagine.
Robert Frost, Carpe Diem
31
Aug
2014

I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;
Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key. of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.

Robert Frost, A MINOR BIRD
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