Desert Places Poem By Robert Frost,
Snow falling and nIght falling fast, oh, fast,
In a field I looked Into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth In snow,
But a few weeds and stubble shOWIng last.
The woods around It have it-It IS theirs.
All animals are smothered In their lairs.
I am too absent-spIrited to count;
The lonehness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is that loneliness
WIll be more lonely ere It wIll be lessA blanker whIteness of benighted snow
WIth no expressIOn, nothIng to express.
They cannot scare me WIth their empty spaces
Between stars-on stars where no human race IS.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.