Advertisement
Not a member of Pastebin yet?
Sign Up,
it unlocks many cool features!
- A Line-storm Song
- By Robert Frost
- The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,
- The road is forlorn all day,
- Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,
- And the hoof-prints vanish away.
- The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,
- Expend their bloom in vain.
- Come over the hills and far with me,
- And be my love in the rain.
- The birds have less to say for themselves
- In the wood-world’s torn despair
- Than now these numberless years the elves,
- Although they are no less there:
- All song of the woods is crushed like some
- Wild, easily shattered rose.
- Come, be my love in the wet woods; come,
- Where the boughs rain when it blows.
- There is the gale to urge behind
- And bruit our singing down,
- And the shallow waters aflutter with wind
- From which to gather your gown.
- What matter if we go clear to the west,
- And come not through dry-shod?
- For wilding brooch shall wet your breast
- The rain-fresh goldenrod.
- Oh, never this whelming east wind swells
- But it seems like the sea’s return
- To the ancient lands where it left the shells
- Before the age of the fern;
- And it seems like the time when after doubt
- Our love came back amain.
- Oh, come forth into the storm and rout
- And be my love in the rain.
Advertisement
Add Comment
Please, Sign In to add comment
Advertisement