Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | June 12, 2008


Robert Frost (1874 – 1963)

excerpt from: Birches

So was I once myself a swinger of birches;  

And so I dream of going back to be.  

It’s when I’m weary of considerations,  

And life is too much like a pathless wood                             45

Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs  

Broken across it, and one eye is weeping  

From a twig’s having lashed across it open.  

I’d like to get away from earth awhile  

And then come back to it and begin over.                            50

May no fate wilfully misunderstand me  

And half grant what I wish and snatch me away  

Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:  

I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.  

I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,                                    55

And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk  

Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,  

But dipped its top and set me down again.  

That would be good both going and coming back.  

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.           60




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