Poem by Robert Lee Frost

The Birthplace

Here further up the mountain slope
Than there was every any hope,
My father built, enclosed a spring,
Strung chains of wall round everything,
Subdued the growth of earth to grass,
And brought our various lives to pass.
A dozen girls and boys we were.
The mountain seemed to like the stir,
And made of us a little while--
With always something in her smile.
Today she wouldn’t know our name.
(No girl’s, of course, has stayed the same.)
The mountain pushed us off her knees.
And now her lap is full of trees.

1. Once by the Pacific
2. Canis Major
3. On Going Unnoticed
4. The Valley’s Singing Day
5. Two Look at Two

Print

1756 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version