American Love Poems
A Line-storm Song


The line-storm clouds
fly tattered and swift,
The road is forlorn all day,
Where a myriad snowy
quartz stones lift,
And the hoof-prints vanish away.
The roadside flowers,
too wet for the bee,
Expend their bloom in vain.
Come over the hills and far with me,
And be my love in the rain.

(More : English Love Poems)

The birds have less
to say for themselves
In the wood-world’s torn despair
Than now these
numberless years the elves,
Although they are no less there:
All song of the woods
is crushed like some
Wild, easily shattered rose.
Come, be my love
in the wet woods; come,
Where the boughs rain when it blows.

There is the gale to urge behind
And bruit our singing down,
And the shallow waters
aflutter with wind
From which to gather your gown.
What matter if we go clear to the west,
And come not through dry-shod?
For wilding brooch
shall wet your breast
The rain-fresh goldenrod.

(More : Irish Love Poems)

Oh, never this whelming
east wind swells
But it seems like the sea’s return
To the ancient lands
where it left the shells
Before the age of the fern;
And it seems like the time
when after doubt
Our love came back amain.
Oh, come forth into the storm and rout
And be my love in the rain.

By Robert Frost


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