Sunday, October 03, 2010

A Late Walk...

When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

~Robert Frost



  1. this was a Frost poem I hadn't come across before. Love it.

  2. Another Frost poem with wonderful images ... thank you

  3. You've chosen the perfect poem to accompany these beautiful fall flowers.

  4. Lovely! (and for the record, the whir of sober birds is much more gentle than the whir of drunk ones)(you're just gonna have to trust me on this one...)

  5. The asters are beautiful. The poetry is lost on me, but I love the asters. :)

  6. Ohhh, how pretty, the colors are so niiice!

    If you like photographing old barns, come join my new meme this evening & post your pic - I'm starting one called 'Old Barns' & would love for you to join!

  7. A perfect marriage or poem and image. May Robert be the only frost you experience for at least a little while.

  8. Beautiful photograph and fitting poem. Nice post.

  9. Lovely photo, lovely poem :-)


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