Poem by Robert Lee Frost

The Pasture

I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I shan’t be gone long. -- You come too.
I’m going out to fetch the little calf
That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I shan’t be gone long. -- You come too.

1. Storm Fear
2. The Last Mowing
3. Putting in the Seed
4. But Outer Space
5. Acceptance

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