The Last Mowing Poem by Robert Frost
The Last Mowing
There's a place called Far-away Meadow
We never shall mow in again,
Or such is the talk at the farmhouse:
The meadow is finished with men.
Then now is the chance for the flowers
That can't stand mowers and plowers.
It must be now, through, in season
Before the not mowing brings trees on,
Before trees, seeing the opening,
March into a shadowy claim.
The trees are all I'm afraid of,
That flowers can't bloom in the shade of;
It's no more men I'm afraid of;
The meadow is done with the tame.
The place for the moment is ours
For you, oh tumultuous flowers,
To go to waste and go wild in,
All shapes and colors of flowers,
I needn't call you by name.
The meadow is done with the tame. The place for the moment is ours For you, oh tumultuous flowers, To go to waste and go wild in, All shapes and colors of flowers, beauty expressed in exquisite terms. tony
The place for the moment is ours For you, oh tumultuous flowers, To go to waste and go wild in, .. great poem. tony
oh tumultuous flowers, To go to waste and go wild in, All shapes and colors of flowers, I needn't call you by name. powerful perception of Robert Frost. tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 3:49:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Bob, you're the best, the finest, etc, on & on; And with Poemhunter here, it's like you'd never gone.