In two stints living in northwestern Wisconsin, Ive met and gotten to know more than a few farmers. A lot of them truly fulfill the notion that if you ask a person what they are, theyll tell you what they do. They are of the land, and most would rather die than leave. This poem speaks to that feeling... On the Sale of My Farm by Robert Frost Well-away and be it so, To the stranger let them go. Even cheerfully I yield Pasture, orchard, mowing-field, Yea and wish him all the gain I required of them in vain. Yea and I can yield him house, Barn, and shed, with rat and mouse To dispute possession of. These I can unlearn to love. Since I cannot help it? Good! Only be it understood, It shall be no trespassing If I come again some spring In the grey disguise of years, Seeking ache of memory here. On the Sale of My Farm by Robert Frost from Collected Poems, Prose, & Plays. © The Library of America, 1995.
Posted on: Tue, 25 Mar 2014 13:56:12 +0000