Thursday, November 12, 2009

My November Guest

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

Robert Frost

Chris' camera winter.spring 2006 012


K Spoering said...

I love Robert Frost. Thanks for posting this! I also love seeing the bare bones of the trees, which I'm beginning to see again here.

Valerie said...

One of my favorite Frost poems! Thanks for posting it...I usually spend some time with a volume of Frost's collected works this time of year and it hasn't happened yet.

Anonymous said...

thank you for that - November has always been thought of as such a dark gloomy month - this shows the beauty. Evelyn