Robert Frost: He Had a Lover's Quarrel With the World

Born today was Robert Frost.

Of New England with its  rivers crossed,

Of  fortunes cast by a  pair of dice tossed,

He wrote. Of  love and childhood lost.

Asking For Roses


by Robert Frost

Lovers Card

A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master,
With doors that none but the wind ever closes,
Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster;
It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses.


I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary;
‘I wonder,’ I say, ‘who the owner of those is.’
‘Oh, no one you know,’ she answers me airy,
‘But one we must ask if we want any roses.’


So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly
There in the hush of the wood that reposes,
And turn and go up to the open door boldly,
And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses.


‘Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?’
‘Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses.
‘Pray, are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you!
‘Tis summer again; there’s two come for roses.


‘A word with you, that of the singer recalling–
Old Herrick: a saying that every maid knows is
A flower unplucked is but left to the falling,
And nothing is gained by not gathering roses.’

We do not loosen our hands’ intertwining
(Not caring so very much what she supposes),
There when she comes on us mistily shining
And grants us by silence the boon of her roses


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  • Superb poems.

  • WG, nice of you to drop by. Frost has always been one of my favorites. Accessible, yet subtle and provocative. I've only a few of these posts to go. And I've sincerely appreciated your kind patronage along the way.

  • AW, you know these daily posts are so interesting and inspiring. I can't thank you enough for your hard work. Please, don't stop now.

    By the way, I am linking to two of your wonderful posts today, in my own humble efforts. Thank you so much!

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