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Robert Frost

The Secret Sits

We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

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Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
And I'll forgive Thy great big one on me.

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But outer Space

But outer Space,
At least this far,
For all the fuss
Of the populace
Stays more popular
Than populous

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The Span Of Life

The old dog barks backwards without getting up.
I can remember when he was a pup.


Anonymous submission.

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Plowmen

A plow, they say, to plow the snow.
They cannot mean to plant it, no --
Unless in bitterness to mock
At having cultivated rock.

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A Question

A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.

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Devotion

The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to ocean -
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.

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Dust of Snow

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

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In A Poem

The sentencing goes blithely on its way
And takes the playfully objected rhyme
As surely as it takes the stroke and time
In having its undeviable say.

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Hannibal

Was there even a cause too lost,
Ever a cause that was lost too long,
Or that showed with the lapse of time to vain
For the generous tears of youth and song?

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Robert Frost
Robert Frost