The Onset Poem by Robert Frost

The Onset

Rating: 4.3


ALWAYS the same, when on a fated night
At last the gathered snow lets down as white
As may be in dark woods, and with a song
It shall not make again all winter long
Of hissing on the yet uncovered ground,
I almost stumble looking up and round,
As one who overtaken by the end
Gives up his errand, and lets death descend
Upon him where he is, with nothing done
To evil, no important triumph won,
More than if life had never been begun.

Yet all the precedent is on my side:
I know that winter death has never tried
The earth but it has failed: the snow may heap
In long storms an undrifted four feet deep
As measured against maple, birch and oak,
It cannot check the peeper's silver croak;
And I shall see the snow all go down hill
In water of a slender April rill
That flashes tail through last year's withered brake
And dead weeds, like a disappearing snake.
Nothing will be left white but here a birch,
And there a clump of houses with a church.

Thursday, January 8, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: winter
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Wonderful 05 March 2018

This was the best and it made sence

1 0 Reply
Mark Arvizu 21 September 2015

Born in Winter, died in Winter

4 0 Reply
Gangadharan Nair Pulingat 29 January 2015

A great poem from Robert frost which is so much interesting.

5 1 Reply
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Robert Frost

Robert Frost

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