When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.
(Robert Frost)
More Poetry from Robert Frost:
Robert Frost Poems based on Topics: Nature, Mind, Thought & Thinking, Garden, Weeds- After Apple Picking (Robert Frost Poems)
- A Considerable Speck (Robert Frost Poems)
- In white: Frost's Early Version of Design (Robert Frost Poems)
- The Vanishing Red (Robert Frost Poem)
- The Generations of Men (Robert Frost Poem)
- The Grindstone (Robert Frost Poem)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Mind Poems, Nature Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Garden Poems, Weeds PoemsBased on Keywords: sober, closes, lingered, disturbed, remaining, picking, rattling, tangle, mowing, thatch, sadder