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.
… - Robert Frost
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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.
English
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About
Robert Frost
Robert Lee Frost (26 March 1874 – 29 January 1963) was an American poet; winner of four Pulitzer Prizes.
Biography information from
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Portrait adapted from
Wikimedia Commons, Fred Palumbo, World Telegram staff photographer (Public domain / CC0)
Portrait from Wikimedia Commons. Credit: Fred Palumbo, World Telegram staff photographer. Used under Public domain / CC0. Processed and styled by Quotewise.
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Our very life depends on everything’s Recurring till we answer from within. The thousandth time may prove the charm.
Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?
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I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
