[New-Poetry] Van Doren and Frost

[JforJames at aol.com]

missed a line, try this one....
 
 
The Last Mowing
 
There’s a place called Faraway Meadow
We never shall mow in again,
Or  such is the talk of 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, though, 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.
 
--Robert Frost
 
n a message dated 7/19/2007 10:30:53 PM Eastern Daylight Time,  
JforJames at aol.com writes:

 
 
The Last Mowing
 
There’s a place called Faraway Meadow
We never shall mow in  again,
Or such is the talk of 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, though, in season 
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.
 
--Robert Frost








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