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Rose Pogonias

Robert Frost 1874 (San Francisco) – 1963 (Boston)

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 favored,
  Obtain such grace of hours,
that none should mow the grass there
  While so confused with flowers.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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Robert Frost

Robert Lee Frost was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in the United States. more…

All Robert Frost poems | Robert Frost Books

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    "Rose Pogonias" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 15 Apr. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/30898/rose-pogonias>.

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