Treasure Island

Robert Frost

(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)

To Earthward


Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of - was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?

I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,

The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • * Sunprincess * (3/18/2014 9:25:00 AM)

    I had the swirl and ache
    From sprays of honeysuckle
    That when they're gathered shake
    Dew on the knuckle.~
    ...a poem with beauty and sweetness
    enjoyed much... (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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