Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | February 18, 2009


by Robert Frost (1874 – 1963).


Good Hours (1915)



I had for my winter evening walk— 

No one at all with whom to talk, 

But I had the cottages in a row 

Up to their shining eyes in snow. 


And I thought I had the folk within:                      5

I had the sound of a violin; 

I had a glimpse through curtain laces 

Of youthful forms and youthful faces. 


I had such company outward bound. 

I went till there were no cottages found.          10

I turned and repented, but coming back 

I saw no window but that was black. 


Over the snow my creaking feet 

Disturbed the slumbering village street 

Like profanation, by your leave,                           15

At ten o’clock of a winter eve.



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