ROBERT FROST POEM: The CodeHeroics

There were three in the meadow by the brook, 
Gathering up windrows, piling haycocks up,
With an eye always lifted toward the west,
Where an irregular, sun-bordered cloud
Darkly advanced with a perpetual dagger
Flickering across its bosom. Suddenly
One helper, thrusting pitchfork in the ground,
Marched himself of the field and home. one stayed.
The town-bred farmer failed to understand.

 What was there wrong?
        Something you said just now.
What did I say?
        About our taking pains.
To cock the hay?-because it's going to shower?
I said that nearly half an hour ago.
I said it to myself as much as you.
You didn;t know. But James is one big fool.
He thought you meant to find fault with his work.
That's what the average farmer would have meant.
James had to take his time to chew it over
Before he acted; he's just got round to act.
He is fool if that's the way he takes me.

ROBERT FROST Poem: The Aim Was Song

By: ROBERT FROST


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