Poetry heals. Poetry mends the soul with its brevity. Not having the best day, but whenever I’m feeling blue, I reach for a poetry anthology and get lost in prose. Today I reached for Mr. Frost. Honoring Robert Frost today. It was on this day in 1894 that Robert Frost's first poem was published. It is not the poem I’m sharing today, Reluctance, I hope you enjoy it too. #deadpoetssociety #robertfrost #poetry #heals #arthurpikephotography #picturesandpoetry
by Robert Frost
Out through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home, And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground, Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow, When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone; The flowers of the witch hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question ‘Whither?’ Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?