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

~~~
xoabb


13 comments:

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

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

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

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  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...)

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

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  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!

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

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  8. Beautiful photograph and fitting poem. Nice post.

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  9. Lovely photo, lovely poem :-)

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Thank you for taking the time to leave a thought. It's appreciated! xoabb