I COULD GIVE ALL TO TIME
I was reading the poetry of Robert Frost this morning and came across this. It seemed perhaps pertinent to one who just turned another year older. What do you see, how do you understand this poem?
To Time it never seems that he is brave
To set himself against the peaks of snow
To lay them level with the running wave,
Nor is he overjoyed when they lie low,
But only grave, contemplative and grave.
What now is inland shall be ocean isle,
Then eddies playing round a sunken reef
Like the curl at the corner of a smile;
And I could share Time's lack of joy or grief
As such a planetary change of style.
I could give all to Time except--except
What I myself have held. But why declare
The things forbidden that while the Customs slept
I have crossed to Safety with? For I am There,
And what I would not part with I have kept.