Robert Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)
Poems of Robert Frost
|84.||Spoils Of The Dead||3/29/2010|
|87.||Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening||1/3/2003|
|89.||The Aim Was Song||1/3/2003|
|93.||The Black Cottage||3/29/2010|
|96.||The Cow In Apple-Time||1/13/2003|
|97.||The Death of the Hired Man||1/3/2003|
|98.||The Demiurge's Laugh||1/3/2003|
|99.||The Exposed Nest||1/13/2003|
A Boundless Moment
He halted in the wind, and -- what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.
"Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom," I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.