There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound–
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.
Mowing
Analysis, meaning and summary of Robert Frost's poem Mowing
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i agree with john
I am confused by the poem. It makes me feel bad for the snake, but yet relieved that it is gone and wont hurt anyone.
I remember studying this poem at school and it still makes me feel the same way. Its such a tranquil sort of poem…the tranquility you find when you sit out in the sun in winter and feel the sun warming through your whole body and you are just happy to be alive. This is one of my favourites!
John, you don’t know what you are talking about. Actually look at it and analyze it. Go to Spark notes.com for commentary and then tell everyone it is stupid.
it was stupid
I like it its kind of what i have to go through.