Frost, I freeze with the mention of your name,
Yet with the sunshine glittering from your ink;
I warm up and revert to my selfsame
To write of you in verse truly what I think.
Oft I roam in the farm you left behind
And on the old rocks you were sitting I stand,
Looking the universe you had in mind,
Where I see the world but a speck at the strand.
At eve came the tramps asking where to find,
The man who disagreed to give them a hand;
And I looked at them and said, there behind
That rugged wall, there’s a mound of earth and sand.
I gazed at the moon slanting far away
With the shuttling beams, warping threads of the gleam,
Weaving the years he lived a tongue, to say,
Here lies Robert Frost, the everlasting dream.
Yes, he lies stilly with time never dead,
Never a fountain of wisdom seres to flow,
Never a print can be marred of what’s said,
And what he has said in print, will ever glow.
Frost the poet and the bard, I declare,
That he built forever the greatest empire,
The crown was offered to him and the chair,
Which will never be destroyed by time or fire.
Than the strangers left walking in the gleam,
And the gleam was dimming behind and before;
They faded away with their hopes and dream,
And back to the mountain land, they came no more.