Are you familiar with the one called LOVE? Have you been loving someone or it was written on your past memory?
Sometimes, the purity of our love prevents us from telling our beloved ones how much we do love them. What we can do is telling ourselves, murmuring, how perfect they are to us. Unfortunately, when they are gone, we are likely to fall into our deepest regret that we never try to let them know how meaningful they are. Robert Frost, through his poem entitled My November Guest tells us a likely familiar idea of a secrete admirer.
Enjoy reading the poem, and share your opinion with me. :)
MY NOVEMBER GUEST
Robert Frost
My Sorrow, when she~s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the WIthered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
Shel's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so.
And they are better for her praise.
Comments
Post a Comment