by Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)

Reluctance
Language: English 
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet questions “Whither?”

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2017-11-12
Line count: 22
Word count: 141