Whose clustered fruit must else be lost

[zirconium]

Today's subject line is from the middle of Robert Frost's "October," which has these lines near the middle:

Oh hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.

The days seem so brief indeed. This poem ends with grapes, which sent me to another Frost poem -- "Wild Grapes" -- that knocked me off my feet, so to speak, when I first read it back in grade school:

I said I had the tree. It wasn't true.
The opposite was true. The tree had me.
The minute it was left with me alone
It caught me up as if I were the fish
And it the fishpole.

Comments

[marginaliana]

Wow, that segment from Wild Grapes is stunning.

[zirconium]

:)

The last stanza spoke strongly to me when I was in my teens, but it's now in the same mental folder as "Hound of Heaven" and Sisson's "Letter to John Donne" -- poems I don't agree with and yet adore.