Looking For A Sunset Bird
In Winter Poem By Robert Frost
The west was gettIng out of gold,
The breath of air had dIed of cold,
When shoeIng home across the whIte,
I thought I saw a bird alight
In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird WIth an angelIc gift
Was singing in it sweet and swIft.
No bird was singmg in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.
From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only addIng frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn’t show.
A brush had left a crooked stroke,
Of what was either cloud or smoke,
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.