Saturday, January 8, 2005

ROBERT FROST: POET OF SNOW. I've not yet found a poet who so enjoys the snow as Robert Frost (hey, it's even in his name). My mom recently gave me an old copy of The Poetry of Robert Frost and I've been plundering it for snow poems. Here's one from a 1914 collection called "North of Boston":


I had for my winter evening walk--
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.

And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.

Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o'clock of a winter eve.

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