Desert Places by Robert Frost

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a filed I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it-- it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.


And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less--
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars-- on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

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"Nature is but an image or imitation of wisdom, the last thing of the soul."

"Nature is but an image or imitation of wisdom, the last thing of the soul."
-- Plotinus