Selected verse / compiled by Stephen Waite
| dc.contributor | Waite, Stephen Packard Humanities Institute |
| dc.contributor.author | Frost, Robert, 1874-1963 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-07-27 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2022-08-21T15:53:29Z |
| dc.date.available | 2022-08-21T15:53:29Z |
| dc.date.created | 1967 |
| dc.date.issued | 1976-01-01 |
| dc.identifier | ota:0059 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/0059 |
| dc.description.abstract | [198-?] In English Title from University of Oxford Text Archive records |
| dc.format.extent | Text data less than 512 KB Contains markup characters offline |
| dc.format.medium | Digital bitstream |
| dc.language | English |
| dc.language.iso | eng |
| dc.publisher | University of Oxford |
| dc.relation.ispartof | Oxford Text Archive Legacy Collection |
| dc.rights | Although this resource has been deposited with us, it is not currently available for re-use by others. |
| dc.rights.uri | https://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/licence-ota |
| dc.rights.label | ACA |
| dc.subject.lcsh | Poems -- Great Britain -- 20th century |
| dc.subject.other | Poems |
| dc.title | Selected verse / compiled by Stephen Waite |
| dc.type | Text |
| hidden | hidden |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 434021 |
| files.count | 1 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1900-1999 |
Files for this item
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- frost-0059.txt
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- 423.85 KB
- Format
- Text file
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- Version of the work in plain text format
<V 1><L 0> 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. <V 3><L 0> A BOY'S WILL <V 5><L 0> INTO MY OWN ONE OF MY WISHES IS THAT THOSE DARK TREES, SO OLD AND FIRM THEY SCARCELY SHOW THE BREEZE, WERE NOT, AS 'TWERE, THE MEREST MASK OF GLOOM, BUT STRETCHED AWAY UNTO THE EDGE OF DOOM. I SHOULD NOT BE WITHHELD BUT THAT SOME DAY INTO THEIR VASTNESS I SHOULD STEAL AWAY, FEARLESS OF EVER FINDING OPEN LAND, OR HIGHWAY WHERE THE SLOW WHEEL POURS THE SAND. I DO NOT SEE WHY I SHOULD E'ER TURN BACK, OR THOSE SHOULD NOT SET FORTH UPON MY TRACK TO OVERTAKE ME, WHO SHOULD MISS ME HERE AND LONG TO KNOW IF STILL I HELD THEM DEAR. THEY WOULD NOT FIND ME CHANGED FROM HIM THEY KNEW- ONLY MORE SURE OF ALL I THOUGH . . .
