I promised you Poetry .... and this one reflects where I am in my life right now!
Out through the fields and the woods
and over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view and looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home
and lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
save those that the oak is keeping
to ravel them one by one
and let them go scraping and creeping
out over the crusted snow,
when others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
no longer blown hither and thither;
the last lone aster is gone;
the flowers of the witch hazel wither;
the heart is still aching to seek,
but the feet question “whither?”
Ah, when to the heart of man
was it ever less than a treason
to go with the drift of things,
to yield with a grace to reason,
and bow and accept the end
of a love ... or a season?
~ Robert Frost ~
The Old Oak is the Irish National Tree. I have to ask ..... Has it become me, to reason & run and seek the next Shiny thing??
For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. Search narrowly the lines! ~ they hold a treasure Divine ~ a talisman ~ an amulet That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure ~ The words ~ the syllables! Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labour And yet there is in this no Gordian knot Which one might not undo without a sabre, If one could merely comprehend the plot. Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing Of poets, by poets ~ as the name is a poet's, too, Its letters, although naturally lying Like the knight Pinto ~ Mendez Ferdinando ~ Still form a synonym for Truth ~ Cease trying! You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.
First published in the New York Evening Mirror's February 21st, 1846 issue, "A Valentine" was written specifically for Frances Sargent Osgood, whose name is hidden within the lines of the poem. In its first publication, it had the title "To Her Whose Name Is Written Below." To find the name, take the first letter of the first line, then the second letter of the second line, then the third letter of the third line, and so on. Before its publication, it was presented at a private literary salon at the home of Anne Lynch Botta on February 14, 1846. Though Poe was not in attendance, it was a very public revelation of his affection for Osgood.
If you look closely at the photograph above ~ clicking on it will make it much larger ~ you will be able both to read the poem & discover the hidden name!