I dragged myself out walking today, and pretty soon I felt a bit like Robert Frost when he wrote about the end of a season.
Reluctance
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last long aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last long aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'
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?
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?
- Robert Frost -
You have beautifully compared love and fall both in your poem..hope they are not ended !
ReplyDeleteI'd love to take the credit for Robert Frost's poem, but sadly not. I did take the photo if that counts for anything!!!
ReplyDeleteThat is a wonderful photograph. I feel I could write a mystery thriller on the strength of it (I couldn't, of course!) about the detail that appears to be there in the background (a church or clock tower, for instance) and then when I look at the enlarged version they are not there! Intriguing or what?
ReplyDeleteI was quite impressed with the poem... Thought you wrote it... But see not. I like the photograph. Where I live it looks very similar - I will be posting my own brown hued, dreary, but beautiul photos in there own way on my blog soon.
ReplyDeleteDave, the contours of the land underneath tend to create shadows,that fuel the imagination.
ReplyDeleteGood to hear about the photls Margaret.