An Unstamped Letter In Our Rural Letter Box Poem

An Unstamped Letter In Our Rural
Letter Box Poem By Robert Frost,

Last nIght your watchdog barked all nIght
So once you lose and ht the hght.
I t wasn’t someone at your locks.
N 0, In your rUI al letter box
I leave thIs note without a stamp
To tell you it was Just a tramp
Who used your pasture for a camp.
There pOInted hke the pIp of spades
The young spruce made a suite of glades
So regular that In the dark
The place was like a city park.
There I elected to demur
Beneath a low-slung Juniper
Tha t lIke a blanket to my chin
Kept some dew out and some heat in,
Yet left nle freely face to face
All night with universal space.
It may have been at two o’clock
That under me a point of rock
Developed in the grass and fern,
And as I woke afraid to tum
Or so much as uncross my feet,
Lest having wasted precIOus heat
I never should again be warmed,
The largest firedrop ever formed
From two stars’ haVIng coalesced
Went streaking molten down the west.
And then your tranlp astrologer
From seeing tIus undoubted stir
In Heaven’s firm-set firmament,
HImself had the equivalent,
Only wIthIn. Inside the brain
Two memories that long had lam,
Now qUIvered toward each other, lIpped
Together, and together slIpped,
And for a moment all was plain
That men have thought about in vain.
Please, nly involuntary host,
Forgive me if I seem to boast.
‘TIS possible you may have seen,
Albeit through a rusty screen,
The same sIgn Heaven showed your guest.
Each knows his own discerninent best.
You have had your advantages.
ThIngs must have happened to you, yes,
And have occurred to you no doubt,
If not Indeed from sleepmg out,
Then from the work you went about
In farming well-or pretty well.
And it is partly to compel
Myself, in forma pauperis,
To say as much I write you this.

An Unstamped Letter In Our Rural Letter Box Poem

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