Where had I heard this wind before
Change like this to a deeper roar?
What would it take my standing there for,
Holding open a restive door,
Looking down hill to a frothy shore?
Summer was past and the day was past.
Sombre clouds in the west were massed.
Out on the porch’s sagging floor,
Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,
Blindly struck at my knee and missed.
Something sinister in the tone
Told me my secret must be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God.

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Literary Life: August in Review | ofBooksJenny @ Reading the End Recent comment authors

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Jenny @ Reading the End
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Brrrr. Putting the Frost in Robert Frost.

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[…] Bereft by Robert Frost As I Grew Older by Langston Hughes Puck, A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen […]