Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping…
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
—Robert Frost
2 comments:
LOVE Frost . . . the first poem I ever memorized (age 6) was Frost (The Road Not Taken)(go figure:) . . . simply Timeless thoughts, told in a grandfathers voice . . . Good stuff :) Scott
Very good stuff, glad you like!
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