My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
-
-
amazing
I just love this poem, I can relate and understand it so well. -
I truly do love this poem with all my heart. This poem comes to my mind whenever the winter arrives. I somehow find comfort in it..I just love the way he peacefully describes everything.
-
A favorite Frost poem of mine. He is able to describe the season and emotions so well.
Adding your comment:
