Robert Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)
Poems of Robert Frost
|43.||Going For Water||1/13/2003|
|44.||Good-bye, and Keep Cold||1/3/2003|
|48.||In a Disused Graveyard||1/3/2003|
|49.||In A Poem||1/20/2003|
|50.||In A Vale||3/29/2010|
|51.||In Equal Sacrifice||3/29/2010|
|52.||In Hardwood Groves||1/13/2003|
|55.||Into My Own||1/13/2003|
|57.||Iris By Night||3/30/2010|
|58.||Leaves Compared with Flowers||1/3/2003|
|59.||Love And A Question||1/13/2003|
|60.||Meeting And Passing||1/13/2003|
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.