Mountain Interval Part 1

Mountain Interval.

by Robert Frost.

_THE ROAD NOT TAKEN_

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;_

_Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was gra.s.sy and wanted wear; Though as for that the pa.s.sing there Had worn them really about the same,_

_And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back._

_I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference._

CHRISTMAS TREES

(_A Christmas Circular Letter_)

The city had withdrawn into itself And left at last the country to the country; When between whirls of snow not come to lie And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove A stranger to our yard, who looked the city, Yet did in country fashion in that there He sat and waited till he drew us out A-b.u.t.toning coats to ask him who he was.

He proved to be the city come again To look for something it had left behind And could not do without and keep its Christmas.

He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees; My woods--the young fir balsams like a place Where houses all are churches and have spires.

I hadn't thought of them as Christmas Trees.

I doubt if I was tempted for a moment To sell them off their feet to go in cars And leave the slope behind the house all bare, Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.

I'd hate to have them know it if I was.

Yet more I'd hate to hold my trees except As others hold theirs or refuse for them, Beyond the time of profitable growth, The trial by market everything must come to.

I dallied so much with the thought of selling.

Then whether from mistaken courtesy And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether From hope of hearing good of what was mine, I said, "There aren't enough to be worth while."

"I could soon tell how many they would cut, You let me look them over."

"You could look.

But don't expect I'm going to let you have them."

Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close That lop each other of boughs, but not a few Quite solitary and having equal boughs All round and round. The latter he nodded "Yes" to, Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one, With a buyer's moderation, "That would do."

I thought so too, but wasn't there to say so.

We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over, And came down on the north.

He said, "A thousand."

"A thousand Christmas trees!--at what apiece?"

He felt some need of softening that to me: "A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars."

Then I was certain I had never meant To let him have them. Never show surprise!

But thirty dollars seemed so small beside The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents (For that was all they figured out apiece), Three cents so small beside the dollar friends I should be writing to within the hour Would pay in cities for good trees like those, Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools Could hang enough on to pick off enough.

A thousand Christmas trees I didn't know I had!

Worth three cents more to give away than sell, As may be shown by a simple calculation.

Too bad I couldn't lay one in a letter.

I can't help wishing I could send you one, In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.

AN OLD MAN'S WINTER NIGHT

All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.

What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.

What kept him from remembering what it was That brought him to that creaking room was age.

He stood with barrels round him--at a loss.

And having scared the cellar under him In clomping there, he scared it once again In clomping off;--and scared the outer night, Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar Of trees and crack of branches, common things, But nothing so like beating on a box.

A light he was to no one but himself Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what, A quiet light, and then not even that.

He consigned to the moon, such as she was, So late-arising, to the broken moon As better than the sun in any case For such a charge, his snow upon the roof, His icicles along the wall to keep; And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted, And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.

One aged man--one man--can't fill a house, A farm, a countryside, or if he can, It's thus he does it of a winter night.

A PATCH OF OLD SNOW

There's a patch of old snow in a corner That I should have guessed Was a blow-away paper the rain Had brought to rest.

It is speckled with grime as if Small print overspread it, The news of a day I've forgotten-- If I ever read it.

IN THE HOME STRETCH

She stood against the kitchen sink, and looked Over the sink out through a dusty window At weeds the water from the sink made tall.

She wore her cape; her hat was in her hand.

Behind her was confusion in the room, Of chairs turned upside down to sit like people In other chairs, and something, come to look, For every room a house has--parlor, bed-room, And dining-room--thrown pell-mell in the kitchen.

And now and then a smudged, infernal face Looked in a door behind her and addressed Her back. She always answered without turning.

"Where will I put this walnut bureau, lady?"

"Put it on top of something that's on top Of something else," she laughed. "Oh, put it where You can to-night, and go. It's almost dark; You must be getting started back to town."

Another blackened face thrust in and looked And smiled, and when she did not turn, spoke gently, "What are you seeing out the window, _lady_?"

"Never was I beladied so before.

Would evidence of having been called lady More than so many times make me a lady In common law, I wonder."

"But I ask, What are you seeing out the window, lady?"