Robert Frost

An idea is a feat of association.

Any eye is an evil eye That looks in on to a mood apart.

The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.

The brain is a wonderful organ. It starts working the moment you get up in the morning and does not stop until you get into the office.

Have I not walked without an upward look Of caution under stars that very well Might not have missed me when they shot and fell? It was a risk I had to take-and took.

Far in the pillared dark Thrush music went- Almost like a call to come in To the dark and lament. But no, I was out for stars: I would not come in. I meant not even if asked, And I hadn't been.

The nearest friends can go With anyone to death, comes so far short They might as well not try to go at all.

If, as they say, some dust thrown in my eyes Will keep my talk from getting overwise, I'm not the one for putting off the proof. Let it be overwhelming.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.

Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?