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.
Desert Places by Robert Frost
Sunday, April 24, 2011 | posted by Karina Sun @ 5:26:00 PM
categories: Literature
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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."](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6cKh8RRsE6A/TV5jskjDUsI/AAAAAAAAPNo/TwWSISHWXYk/s1600/58636_1594125499163_1416706458_1605069_7075709_n.jpg)
-- Plotinus
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