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The Impulse

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

It 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
Everywhere,
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.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

41 sec read
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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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    "The Impulse" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 18 Apr. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/30919/the-impulse>.

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