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Read more poems by Robert Frost: Robert Frost Poems at Poetry X.

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A Late Walk

Robert Frost

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.

Added: 31 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 21 Jul 2018 3:41 PM | Viewed: 13735 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/674/ | Viewed on 21 July 2018.
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