Bereft

Robert FrostRobert Frost26 Mar 1874 – 29 Jan 1963

1 min read · 12.4K reads

Where had I heard this wind before
Change like this to a deeper roar?
What would it take my standing there for,
Holding open a restive door,
Looking down hill to a frothy shore?
Summer was past and the day was past.
Sombre clouds in the west were massed.
Out on the porch’s sagging floor,
Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,
Blindly striking at my knee and missed.
Something sinister in the tone
Told me my secret my be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God.
Robert Frost
About the poet

Robert Frost

Robert Lee Frost was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in the United States.

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