Robert Frost

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,
Our 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.



About Me | Site Map | Privacy Policy | xml sitemap | Contact Us |Copyright 2008-2017 Kalif Publishing | Banner and Graphics by Luis Peres of Ziph Comics