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To Earthward
Jan. 29th, 2001 08:11 pmLove at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed to much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of - was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love.
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard in grass and Sand,
The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.
-Robert Frost
..........................
I found this poem when looking through a long un-touched pile of books and papers this evening. This summer when B and I were on vacation in the White Mountains we went to the Frost Place in Franconia. There is a little "poetry walk" through the woods with various Frost works printed on plywood and nailed to trees. This one was my favorite, and very unlike anything else I had read by him. I scribbled down the title and found it on the internet when I got home . . . I've yet to find it in a book.
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed to much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of - was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love.
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard in grass and Sand,
The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.
-Robert Frost
..........................
I found this poem when looking through a long un-touched pile of books and papers this evening. This summer when B and I were on vacation in the White Mountains we went to the Frost Place in Franconia. There is a little "poetry walk" through the woods with various Frost works printed on plywood and nailed to trees. This one was my favorite, and very unlike anything else I had read by him. I scribbled down the title and found it on the internet when I got home . . . I've yet to find it in a book.
