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
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way.. the time is gone, the song is over.. thought i'd something more to say..
ReplyDeleteAh, you are showing some very good taste mah man :)
ReplyDeleteAlthough, our lady not gonna be happy with your comment :)
she wasnt.. :) that bit of lyric just conveyed my interpretation of the poem rather beautifully..
ReplyDelete