Rose Pogonias

Robert Frost · 1913–1916

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

25 content lines · 128 words · Est. recitation about 1 min 14 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.

Rose Pogonias

    A SATURATED meadow,
    Sun-shaped and jewel-small,
    A circle scarcely wider
    Than the trees around were tall;
    Where winds were quite excluded,
    And the air was stifling sweet
    With the breath of many flowers,--
    A temple of the heat.
    There we bowed us in the burning,
    As the sun's right worship is,
    To pick where none could miss them
    A thousand orchises;
    For though the grass was scattered,
    Yet every second spear
    Seemed tipped with wings of color,
    That tinged the atmosphere.
    We raised a simple prayer
    Before we left the spot,
    That in the general mowing
    That place might be forgot;
    Or if not all so favoured,
    Obtain such grace of hours,
    That none should mow the grass there
    While so confused with flowers.