The Wind And The Rain 1 Poem By Robert Frost,
That far-off day the leaves In flight,
Were lettmg ill the colder lIght,
A season-ending wind there blew
That as It did the forest strew
I leaned on with a singing trust
And let It drive me deathward too.
With breaking step I stabbed the dust,
Yet did not much to shorten stride
I sang of death-but had I known
The many deaths one must have died
Before he came to meet his ownl
Dh, should a child be left unwamed
That any song in which he mourned
Would be as If he prophesied?
It were unworthy of the tongue
To let the half of lIfe alone
And play the good without the III
And yet ‘twould seem that what is sung
In happy sadness by the young
Fate has no choice but to fulfill.