How countlessly they congregate
O’er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!—
As if with keenness for our fate,
Out faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
Invisible at dawn,—
And yet with neither love nor hate,
Those stars like some snow-white
Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight.
Robert Lee Frost was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in the United States.
View profile & all 58 Poems / StoriesHe saw her from the bottom of the stairsBefore she saw him. She was starting down,
The city had withdrawn into itselfAnd left at last the country to the country;
"You ought to have seen what I saw on my wayTo the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day:
Love at the lips was touchAs sweet as I could bear;
Love has earth to which she clingsWith hills and circling arms about
