Come In
As I came to the edge of the woods, / Thrush music -- hark!
A Boundless Moment
❦
He halted in the wind, and--what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.
'Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom,' I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.
We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves.
More poems by Robert Frost
The Onset
Always the same, when on a fated night / At last the gathered snow lets down as white
Spring Pools
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect / The total sky almost without defect,
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know. / His house is in the village though;