The Oft-Repeated Dream Poem By Robert Frost!
She had no saying dark enough
For the dark pine that kept
Forever trying the window-latch
Of the room where they slept.
The tireless but ineffectual hands
That with every futile pass
Made the great tree seem as a little bird
Before the mystery of glassl
It never had been inside the room,
And only one of the two
Was afraid in an oft-repeated dream
Of what the tree might do.
It was too lonely for her there,
And too wild,
And since there were but two of them,
And no child,
And work was little in the house,
She was free,
And followed where he furrowed field,
Or felled tree.
She rested on a log and tossed
The fresh chips,
With a song only to herself
On her lips.
And once she went to break a bough
Of black alder.
She strayed so far she scarcely heard
When he called herAnd didn’t answer-didn’t speakOr return.
She stood, and then she ran and hid
In the fern.
He never found her, though he looked
And he asked at her mother’s house,
Was she there.
Sudden and swift and light as that
The ties gave,
And he learned of finalities
Besides the grave.