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Home: Poetry: Robert Frost: Home Burial
| HOME BURIAL |
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a poem by Robert Frost
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- HE saw her from the bottom of the stairs
- Before she saw him. She was starting down,
- Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.
- She took a doubtful step and then undid it
- To raise herself and look again. He spoke
- Advancing toward her: "What is it you see
- From up there always--for I want to know."
- She turned and sank upon her skirts at that,
- And her face changed from terrified to dull.
- He said to gain time: "What is it you see,"
- Mounting until she cowered under him.
- "I will find out now--you must tell me, dear."
- She, in her place, refused him any help
- With the least stiffening of her neck and silence.
- She let him look, sure that he wouldn't see,
- Blind creature; and a while he didn't see.
- But at last he murmured, "Oh," and again, "Oh."
- "What is it--what?" she said.
- "Just that I see."
- "You don't," she challenged. "Tell me what it is."
- "The wonder is I didn't see at once.
- I never noticed it from here before.
- I must be wonted to it--that's the reason.
- The little graveyard where my people are!
- So small the window frames the whole of it.
- Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?
- There are three stones of slate and one of marble,
- Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight
- On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those.
- But I understand: it is not the stones,
- But the child's mound----"
- "Don't, don't, don't, don't," she cried.
- She withdrew shrinking from beneath his arm
- That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;
- And turned on him with such a daunting look,
- He said twice over before he knew himself:
- "Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?"
- "Not you! Oh, where's my hat? Oh, I don't need it!
- I must get out of here. I must get air.
- I don't know rightly whether any man can."
- "Amy! Don't go to someone else this time.
- Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs."
- He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.
- "There's something I should like to ask you, dear."
- "You don't know how to ask it."
- "Help me, then."
- Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.
- "My words are nearly always an offence.
- I don't know how to speak of anything
- So as to please you. But I might be taught
- I should suppose. I can't say I see how.
- A man must partly give up being a man
- With women-folk. We could have some arrangement
- By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off
- Anything special you're a-mind to name.
- Though I don't like such things 'twixt those that love.
- Two that don't love can't live together without them.
- But two that do can't live together with them."
- She moved the latch a little. "Don't--don't go.
- Don't carry it to someone else this time.
- Tell me about it if it's something human.
- Let me into your grief. I'm not so much
- Unlike other folks as your standing there
- Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.
- I do think, though, you overdo it a little.
- What was it brought you up to think it the thing
- To take your mother-loss of a first child
- So inconsolably--in the face of love.
- You'd think his memory might be satisfied----"
- "There you go sneering now!"
- "I'm not, I'm not!
- You make me angry. I'll come down to you.
- God, what a woman! And it's come to this,
- A man can't speak of his own child that's dead."
- "You can't because you don't know how.
- If you had any feelings, you that dug
- With your own hand--how could you?--his little grave;
- I saw you from that very window there,
- Making the gravel leap and leap in air,
- Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly
- And roll back down the mound beside the hole.
- I thought, Who is that man? I didn't know you.
- And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs
- To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.
- Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice
- Out in the kitchen, and I don't know why,
- But I went near to see with my own eyes.
- You could sit there with the stains on your shoes
- Of the fresh earth from your own baby's grave
- And talk about your everyday concerns.
- You had stood the spade up against the wall
- Outside there in the entry, for I saw it."
- "I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.
- I'm cursed. God, if I don't believe I'm cursed."
- "I can repeat the very words you were saying.
- 'Three foggy mornings and one rainy day
- Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.'
- Think of it, talk like that at such a time!
- What had how long it takes a birch to rot
- To do with what was in the darkened parlour.
- You couldn't care! The nearest friends can go
- With anyone to death, comes so far short
- They might as well not try to go at all.
- No, from the time when one is sick to death,
- One is alone, and he dies more alone.
- Friends make pretence of following to the grave,
- But before one is in it, their minds are turned
- And making the best of their way back to life
- And living people, and things they understand.
- But the world's evil. I won't have grief so
- If I can change it. Oh, I won't, I won't!"
- "There, you have said it all and you feel better.
- You won't go now. You're crying. Close the door.
- The heart's gone out of it: why keep it up.
- Amy! There's someone coming down the road!"
- "You--oh, you think the talk is all. I must go--
- Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you----"
- "If--you--do!" She was opening the door wider.
- Where do you mean to go? First tell me that.
- I'll follow and bring you back by force. I will!--"
| "Home Burial" is reprinted from North of Boston. Robert Frost. New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1915. |
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