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By Robert Frost

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last long aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

"A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool."- William Shakespeare


Such sad and gloomy thoughts.

July 31, 2009 at 10:05 AM  

great picture
love that poem

September 6, 2009 at 8:29 PM  


November 5, 2009 at 11:04 AM  

I love the last shakespeare quote. I am a fool and I know this to be true :P

November 16, 2009 at 5:11 PM  

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