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POSTED BY: Lady-Sheri on Aug 18, 2008
The Onset


The Onset
Always the same, when on a fated night
At last the gathered snow lets down as white
As may be in dark woods, and with a song It shall not make again all winter long
Of hissing on the yet uncovered ground,
 I almost stumble looking up and round,
As one who overtaken by the end
Gives up his errand, and lets death descend
Upon him where he is, with nothing done
To evil, no important triumph won,
 More than if life had never been begun.
 Yet all the precedent is on my side:
 I know that winter death has never tried
The earth but it has failed: the snow may heap In long storms an undrifted four feet deep
As measured again maple, birch, and oak, It cannot check the peeper’s silver croak;
And I shall see the snow all go down hill In water of a slender April rill
That flashes tail through last year’s withered brake
And dead weeds, like a disappearing snake.
Nothing will be left white but here a birch,
And there a clump of houses with a church.
 By Robert Frost





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POSTED BY: Allan on Aug 18, 2008
The Onset

Thank you for adding the Poem - I am afraid I have not heard of Robert Frost so this is the first of his work I have seen to date...but I doubt it will be the last. I would also like to see poetry written by members. Thanks again and will hear from you soon we hope.
Allan





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