by: Robert Frost (1874-1963)
- T was too
lonely for her there,
- And too wild,
- And since there were but two of them,
- And no child,
- And work was little in the house,
- She was free,
- And followed where he furrowed field,
- Or felled tree.
- She rested on a log and tossed
- The fresh chips,
- With a song only to herself
- On her lips.
- And once she went to break a bough
- Of black alder.
- She strayed so far she scarcely heard
- When he called her--
- And didn't answer--didn't speak--
- Or return.
- She stood, and then she ran and hid
- In the fern.
- He never found her, though he looked
- And he asked at her mother's house
- Was she there.
- Sudden and swift and light as that
- The ties gave,
- And he learned of finalities
- Besides the grave.
POEMS BY ROBERT FROST
"The Impulse" is reprinted
from Mountain Interval. Robert Frost. New York: Henry