Where lies a feverish unbroken dream

Not here, in this twisted rowdy land

I cover my eyes to the howls and shrieks

Tugs on my body beg me to turn away

And listen to boresome tales from morons

Hungering for money for their shiny things

And eyes to see them bask in a vapid glow

I strain, push to exit the heaving mob

The fray threatens to drown passions

I hold them up, letting them light the way

So easy to give in to the bleating sheep

But I have promises to keep.

 

Last line from Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” from The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem.

Copyright 1923, © 1969 by Henry Holt and Company, Inc., renewed 1951, by Robert Frost.

 Reprinted with the permission of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.