Dinesh's photos with the keyword: Frost

"The stag bells, winter snows, summer has gone Wind high and cold, the sun low, short its course The sea running high. Deep red the bracken; its shape is lost; The wild goose has raised its accustomed cry, Cold has seized the birds' wings; Season of ice, this is my news." - Irish poem, 9th Century

Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me. ............... ~ Robert Frost

He halted in the wind, and--what was that Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost? He stood there bringing March against his thought, And yet too ready to believe the most. 'Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom,' I said; And truly it was fair enough for flowers had we but in us to assume in march Such white luxuriance of May for ours. We stood a moment so in a strange world, Myself as one his own pretense deceives; And then I said the truth (and we moved on). A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves. "Boundless moment" ~ Robert Frost

A tree's leaves may be ever so good, So may its bark, so may its wood; But unless you put the right thing to its root It never will show much flower or fruit. But I may be one who does not care Ever to have tree bloom or bear. Leaves for smooth and bark for rough, Leaves and bark may be tree enough. Some giant trees have bloom so small They might as well have none at all. Late in life I have come on fern. Now lichens are due to have their turn. I bade men tell me which in brief, Which is fairer, flower or leaf. They did not have the wit to say, Leaves by night and flowers by day. Leaves and bar, leaves and bark, To lean against and hear in the dark. Petals I may have once pursued. Leaves are all my darker mood. Robert Frost

.................................................. And leave it there far from a useful fireplace To warm the frozen swamp as best it could With the slow smokeless burning of decay. Excerpt "Woodpile" - Robert Frost www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44276/the-wood-pile

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast In a field I looked into going past, And the ground almost covered smooth in snow, But a few weeds and stubble showing last. The woods around it have it—it is theirs. All animals are smothered in their lairs. I am too absent-spirited to count; The loneliness includes me unawares. And lonely as it is, that loneliness Will be more lonely ere it will be less— A blanker whiteness of benighted snow With no expression, nothing to express. They cannot scare me with their empty spaces Between stars—on stars where no human race is. I have it in me so much nearer home To scare myself with my own desert places. "Desert Places" ~ Robert Frost

The woods around it have it—it is theirs. All animals are smothered in their lairs. I am too absent-spirited to count; The loneliness includes me unawares. Excerpt: "Desert Places" ~ Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening" ~ Robert Frost Listen to the poem: www.youtube.com/watch?v=nie5dGD6OQA&feature=related Poem read by Gerrison Keller writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2006/03/07