Poems of Robert Frost
|84.||Spoils Of The Dead||3/29/2010|
|87.||Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening||1/3/2003|
|89.||The Aim Was Song||1/3/2003|
|93.||The Black Cottage||3/29/2010|
|96.||The Cow In Apple-Time||1/13/2003|
|97.||The Death of the Hired Man||1/3/2003|
|98.||The Demiurge's Laugh||1/3/2003|
|99.||The Exposed Nest||1/13/2003|
After Apple Picking
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight