I had for my winter evening walk--
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.

And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.

Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o'clock of a winter eve.

Added: on October 12th, 2005 at 11:25 PM | Viewed: 8451 times | Comments (5)

Poet: Robert Frost
Poem: 6. Good Hours
Volume: North of Boston
Year: Published/Written in 1914
Poem of the Day: Apr 9 2003

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