In Time Of Cloudburst Poem By Robert Frost,
Let the downpour rOll and toll!
The worst It can do to me
Is carry some garden sou
A little nearer the sea.
“TIS the world-old way of the rain
When it comes to a mountaIn farm
To exact for a present gain
A little of future harm.
And the harm is none too sure,
F or when all that was rotted nch
Shall be In the end scoured poor,
When my garden has gone down Ai.tch.,
Some force has but to apply,
And summits shall be immersed,
The bottom of seas raised dryThe slope of the earth reversed.
Then all I need do is run
To the other end of the slope,
And on tracts laid new to the SUD,
Begm all over to hope.
Some worn old tool of my own
Will be turned up by the plow,
The wood of it changed to stone,
But as ready to wield as now.
May my application so close
To so endless a repetition,
Not make me tired and morose,
And resentful of man’s condition.