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Robert Frost - Rose Pogonias

A SATURATED meadow,
Sun-shaped and jewel-small,
A circle scarcely wider
Than the trees around were tall;
Where winds were quite excluded,
And the air was stifling sweet
With the breath of many flowers, --
A temple of the hear.

There we bowed us in the burning,
As the sun's right worship is,
To pick where none could miss them
A thousand orchises;
For though the grass was scattered,
yet every second spear
Seemed tipped with wings of color,
That tinged the atmosphere.

We raised a simple prayer
Before we left the spot,
That in the general mowing
That place might be forgot;
Or if not all so favored,
Obtain such grace of hours,
that none should mow the grass there
While so confused with flowers.

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Added: Feb 1 2004 | Viewed: 3306 times | Comments and analysis of Rose Pogonias by Robert Frost Comments (20)

Rose Pogonias - Comments and Information

Poet: Robert Frost
Poem: 12. Rose Pogonias
Volume: A Boy's Will
Year: Published/Written in 1913
Poem of the Day: Jun 22 2005

Comment 20 of 20, added on February 3rd, 2018 at 5:22 AM.
Test, just a test

Hello. And Bye.

XRumerTest from Andorra
Comment 19 of 20, added on July 20th, 2017 at 3:43 PM.
Test, just a test

Hello. And Bye.

XRumerTest from Chile
Comment 18 of 20, added on July 6th, 2017 at 3:12 PM.
Test, just a test

Hello. And Bye.

XRumerTest from Norway

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