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Robert Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)
Poems by Robert Frost : 2 / 136
A Boundless Moment
He halted in the wind, and -- what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.
"Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom," I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.
We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves.
Robert Frost
Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003
Read poems about / on: believe, truth, wind, world, flower
Poems by Robert Frost : 2 / 136
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Robert Frost
Simple AMAZING. no other things to say: O
I think this is about our capacity to see what we want to see, rather than what is.
a beautiful moment in time and he remembers it fondly..awesome write.. :)
Really heart's close poem. We must read poems through our heart not eyes.
He's remembering a moment in time not just any time, a moment that would be the best time in his life, that probably took place in the month of march. he's not just reflecting, something cause him to go back to that place in time perhaps the maples, pales. A moment in time he can never retrieve again.
really great, , , he ia a great poet as we all know
I always love his style...So natural by hand and poetic emotion..It simply beautiful words spelled on a paper now in a screen where we can feel it gorgeousness..wonderful _Unwritten Soul
Robert Lee Frost was not Gay in the least, but considering Adlof Hitler's queer personality if safe to question whether he was.
The present moment is the unbound moment. A moment of infinite beauty that is. But we often end up bringing in the past experience into the immaculate present, may be with good intentions. The truth is that we do not have to cling to our last year's leaves to be prent into this year's blossom.
Bhaswat S. Chakraborty
This poem, to me, is about the passage of time, and how we can confuse the beautiful miracles of the present with ghosts from our past. How we are, like the beech, just trying to hold onto something that is already dead. If we are observant enough, we will see the obvious beauty of the miraculous things that are happening, right now. And that we can take it in, acknowledge them, and go about our business once we have.
pretense can be false. Take a closer look. Makes one wonder about their interpretations of such obviously beautiful poetry. Moving on.