But oh, the agitated heart
Till someone find us really out.
‘Tis pity if the case require
(Or so we say) that in the end
We speak the literal to inspire
The understanding of a friend.
But so with all, from babes that play
At hide-and-seek to God afar,
So all who hide too well away
Must speak and tell us where they are.
Similar Posts
A Time To Talk – Poem by Robert Frost
When a friend calls to me from the roadAnd slows his horse to a meaning walk,I don’t stand still and look aroundOn all the hills I haven’t hoed,And shout from where I am, What is it?No, not as there is a time to talk.I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,Blade-end up and five feet…
By June our brook’s run out of song and speed.
Either to have gone groping underground(And taken with it all the Hyla breedThat shouted in the mist a month ago,Like ghost of sleigh-bells in a ghost of snow)–Or flourished and come up in jewel-weed,Weak foliage that is blown upon and bentEven against the way its waters went.Its bed is left a faded paper sheetOf dead…
Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter – Poem by Robert Frost
The west was getting out of gold,The breath of air had died of cold,When shoeing home across the white,I thought I saw a bird alight. In summer when I passed the placeI had to stop and lift my face;A bird with an angelic giftWas singing in it sweet and swift. No bird was singing in…
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.If we who sight along it round the world,See nothing worthy to have been its mark,It is because like men we look too near,Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,Our missiles always make too short an arc.They fall, they rip the grass, they intersectThe curve of earth,…
Love and forgetting might have carried them
With night so near, but not much further up.They must have halted soon in any caseWith thoughts of a path back, how rough it wasWith rock and washout, and unsafe in darkness;When they were halted by a tumbled wallWith barbed-wire binding. They stood facing this,Spending what onward impulse they still hadIn One last look the…
The Last Word of a Blue Bird – Poem by Robert Frost
As told to a child As I went out a CrowIn a low voice said, ‘Oh,I was looking for you.How do you do?I just came to tell youTo tell Lesley (will you?)That her little BluebirdWanted me to bring wordThat the north wind last nightThat made the stars brightAnd made ice on the troughAlmost made him…