A Line-Storm Song

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.

The birds have less to say for themselves
In the wood-world’s torn despair
Than now these numberless years the elves,
Although they are no less there:
All song of the woods is crushed like some
Wild, easily shattered rose.
Come, be my love in the wet woods; come,
Where the boughs rain when it blows.

There is the gale to urge behind
And bruit our singing down,
And the shallow waters aflutter with wind
From which to gather your gown.
What matter if we go clear to the west,
And come not through dry-shod?
For wilding brooch shall wet your breast
The rain-fresh goldenrod.

Oh, never this whelming east wind swells
But it seems like the sea’s return
To the ancient lands where it left the shells
Before the age of the fern;
And it seems like the time when after doubt
Our love came back amain.
Oh, come forth into the storm and rout
And be my love in the rain.

by Robert Frost

Comments (12)

cameras are one of the greatest inventions.they changed life as we know iy
What a lovely read Peter..... thanks for your comments on mine! It was Cave Castle actually! ! One much closer to home! : -) Humber Girl x
How many times have I wondered, 'Was my hair really that dark? ' or 'Was my mother ever young? ' and the frozen pieces of time help this old mind to remember. How marvelous to see your family in my mind, and to know that little blond haired boy! Linda
You captured it like a National Geographic journalist with these details of family and life in general...Beautifully penned Mr. Crowther! !
crowhere, the title of the poem iself is so good.
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