By Robert Frost (1923)

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.

[Thanks to the Robert Frost Facebook page for this poem.]

One Comment

  1. Avatar Steven Threndyle says:

    A false spring.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*

Subscribe now to continue. SUBSCRIPTION IS FREE!

Already a Subscriber? Enter your email above to confirm your subscription and continue reading. Thank you!

 

Cookies must be enabled on your device for new and existing subscribers to gain access.

Subscribers also get access to restricted content like our

BEST SKIS FOR SENIORS list; DISCOUNT DEALS; and our weekly digest email.