The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift. <br /> The road is forlorn all day, <br />Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, <br /> And the hoof-prints vanish away. <br />The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, <br /> Expend their bloom in vain. <br />Come over the hills and far with me, <br /> And be my love in the rain. <br /> <br />The birds have less to say for themselves <br /> In the wood-world's torn despair <br />Than now these numberless years the elves, <br /> Although they are no less there: <br />All song of the woods is crushed like some <br /> Wild, earily shattered rose. <br />Come, be my love in the wet woods, come, <br /> Where the boughs rain when it blows. <br /> <br />There is the gale to urge behind <br /> And bruit our singing down, <br />And the shallow waters aflutter with wind <br /> From which to gather your gown. <br />What matter if we go clear to the west, <br /> And come not through dry-shod? <br />For wilding brooch shall wet your breast <br /> The rain-fresh goldenrod. <br /> <br />Oh, never this whelming east wind swells <br /> But it seems like the sea's return <br />To the ancient lands where it left the shells <br /> Before the age of the fern; <br />And it seems like the time when after doubt <br /> Our love came back amain. <br />Oh, come forth into the storm and rout <br /> And be my love in the rain.<br /><br />Robert Lee Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-line-storm-song-2/
