Mowing

Robert Frost · 1913–1916

Catalog grade guidance: 6–8 — Frost early-book lyric from hosted PD text (1913–1916).

15 content lines · 132 words · Est. recitation about 1 min 12 sec (approx.)

Public-domain text for reading and recitation practice. Source: Project Gutenberg #3021 / #3026 / #29345.Estimated time uses ~120 words/minute plus short pauses—not a contest rule.

Mowing

    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 labor knows.
    My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.