My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
- selection from "After Apple Picking" by Robert Frost
Maybe it's because he grew up in New England and enjoyed many crisp October days, but no one seems to capture the beauty of autumn quite like Robert Frost. Read the rest of the poem here, although the tone becomes increasingly downhearted past the selection above.
On a lighter note, Happy Fall.
Posts
