GATHERING LEAVES...

Spades take up leaves

No better than spoons,

And bags full of leaves

Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise 

Of rustling all day

Like rabbit and deer

Running away.

But the mountains I raise

Elude my embrace,

Flowing over my arms

And into my face.

I may load and unload

Again and again

Till I fill the whole shed,

And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight,

And since they grew duller

From contact with earth,

Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use

But a crop is a crop, 

And who's to say where

The harvest shall stop?

Gathering Leaves

by

Robert Frost

Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet.  His work was initially published in England before it was published in the United States. Known for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech, Frost frequently wrote about settings from rural life in New England in the early 20th century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes.  

He was born in San Francisco, California, to journalist William Prescott Frost Jr. and Isabelle Moodie. His father was descended from Nicholas Frost of Tiverton, Devon, England, who had sailed to New Hampshire in 1634 on the Wolfrana, and his mother was a Scottish immigrant.

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