Poem by Robert Lee Frost

What Fifty Said

When I was young my teachers were the old.
I gave up fire for form till I was cold.
I suffered like a metal being cast.
I went to school to age to learn the past.

Now when I am old my teachers are the young.
What can’t be molded must be cracked and sprung.
I strain at lessons fit to start a suture.
I go to school to youth to learn the future.

1. The Housekeeper
2. On a Tree Fallen Across the Road
3. The Sound of the Trees
4. On Looking up by Chance at the Constellations
5. Brown’s Descent

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