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Home: Poetry: Robert Frost: Rose Pogonias
| ROSE POGONIAS |
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a poem by Robert Frost
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- 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.
| "Rose Pogonias" is reprinted from A Boy's Will. Robert Frost. New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1915. |
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