Good Hours

Source

Source: Project Gutenberg #3021 / #3026 / #29345 Source URL: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3021 Public domain basis: Frost’s first three books (1913–1916) via PG; US public domain. Coverage: Complete individual poem extracted from parent edition frost-early-poems at bytes 130334-137925; checksum ba70a9b6fa1470869e9dcca0fd18f2f7b44be3223827c5d01df94597911fb909.

# Good Hours

Good Hours

I HAD for my winter evening walk-- No one at all with whom to talk, But I had the cottages in a row Up to their shining eyes in snow. And I thought I had the folk within: I had the sound of a violin; I had a glimpse through curtain laces Of youthful forms and youthful faces. I had such company outward bound. I went till there were no cottages found. I turned and repented, but coming back I saw no window but that was black. Over the snow my creaking feet Disturbed the slumbering village street Like profanation, by your leave, At ten o'clock of a winter eve.

Produced by David Starner, Katherine Ward and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

[Illustration: ROBERT FROST From the original in plaster by AROLDO DU CHÊNE Copyright, Henry Holt and Company]

MOUNTAIN INTERVAL

BY ROBERT FROST

NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1916, 1921 BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

May, 1931

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY RAHWAY, N. J.

* * * * *

TO YOU WHO LEAST NEED REMINDING

that before this interval of the South Branch under black mountains, there was another interval, the Upper at Plymouth, where we walked in spring beyond the covered bridge; but that the first interval of all was the old farm, our brook interval, so called by the man we had it from in sale.

CONTENTS

PAGE THE ROAD NOT TAKEN 9 CHRISTMAS TREES 11 AN OLD MAN'S WINTER NIGHT 14 A PATCH OF OLD SNOW 15 IN THE HOME STRETCH 16 THE TELEPHONE 24 MEETING AND PASSING 25 HYLA BROOK 26 THE OVEN BIRD 27 BOND AND FREE 28 BIRCHES 29 PEA BRUSH 31 PUTTING IN THE SEED 32 A TIME TO TALK 33 THE COW IN APPLE TIME 34 AN ENCOUNTER 35 RANGE-FINDING 36 THE HILL WIFE 37 I LONELINESS--HER WORD 37 II HOUSE FEAR 37 III THE SMILE--HER WORD 38 IV THE OFT-REPEATED DREAM 38 V THE IMPULSE 39 THE BONFIRE 41 A GIRL'S GARDEN 45 THE EXPOSED NEST 48 "OUT, OUT--" 50 BROWN'S DESCENT OR THE WILLY-NILLY SLIDE 52 THE GUM-GATHERER 56 THE LINE-GANG 58 THE VANISHING RED 59 SNOW 61 THE SOUND OF THE TREES 75

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

CHRISTMAS TREES

(A Christmas Circular Letter)

The city had withdrawn into itself And left at last the country to the country; When between whirls of snow not come to lie And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove A stranger to our yard, who looked the city, Yet did in country fashion in that there He sat and waited till he drew us out A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was. He proved to be the city come again To look for something it had left behind And could not do without and keep its Christmas. He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees; My woods--the young fir balsams like a place Where houses all are churches and have spires. I hadn't thought of them as Christmas Trees. I doubt if I was tempted for a moment To sell them off their feet to go in cars And leave the slope behind the house all bare, Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon. I'd hate to have them know it if I was. Yet more I'd hate to hold my trees except As others hold theirs or refuse for them, Beyond the time of profitable growth, The trial by market everything must come to. I dallied so much with the thought of selling. Then whether from mistaken courtesy And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether From hope of hearing good of what was mine, I said, "There aren't enough to be worth while." "I could soon tell how many they would cut, You let me look them over."

"You could look. But don't expect I'm going to let you have them." Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close That lop each other of boughs, but not a few Quite solitary and having equal boughs All round and round. The latter he nodded "Yes" to, Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one, With a buyer's moderation, "That would do." I thought so too, but wasn't there to say so. We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over, And came down on the north.

He said, "A thousand."

"A thousand Christmas trees!--at what apiece?"

He felt some need of softening that to me: "A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars."

Then I was certain I had never meant To let him have them. Never show surprise! But thirty dollars seemed so small beside The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents (For that was all they figured out apiece), Three cents so small beside the dollar friends I should be writing to within the hour Would pay in cities for good trees like those, Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools Could hang enough on to pick off enough. A thousand Christmas trees I didn't know I had! Worth three cents more to give away than sell, As may be shown by a simple calculation. Too bad I couldn't lay one in a letter. I can't help wishing I could send you one, In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.