Robert Frost

(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)

Come In


As I came to the edge of the woods,
Thrush music -- hark!
Now if it was dusk outside,
Inside it was dark.

Too dark in the woods for a bird
By sleight of wing
To better its perch for the night,
Though it still could sing.

The last of the light of the sun
That had died in the west
Still lived for one song more
In a thrush's breast.

Far in the pillared dark
Thrush music went --
Almost like a call to come in
To the dark and lament.

But no, I was out for stars;
I would not come in.
I meant not even if asked;
And I hadn't been.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Andrew Hoellering (12/28/2009 3:02:00 AM)

    Frost’s best poems carry their own inner music.
    His gift as an observer is to become part of nature without ever wishing to intrude into what he is describing.
    This humility in the face of a force that Frost feels to be greater than himself has never been better expressed than in the last verse of this remarkable poem, which ranks with Hardy’s The Darkling Thrush that may well have inspired it. (Report) Reply

  • Robert Howard (7/30/2006 10:46:00 PM)

    This beautiful poem is set to music by Randall Thompson in a set called Frostiana. The setting for Come In is for Women's voices with a solo flute part to portray the thrush. Other poems in the set are The Road Not Taken, The Pasture, Stopping by Woods, The Telephone and Choose Something Like a Star. (Report) Reply

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