(Robert Frost, 1875-1963) <br /> <br /> <br />Whose wood this is I think I know: <br />He made it sacred long ago: <br />He will expect me, far or near <br />To watch that wood immense with snow. <br /> <br />That famous horse must feel great fear <br />Now that his noble rider's no longer here: <br />He gives his harness bells to rhyme <br />--Perhaps he will be back, in time? <br /> <br />All woulds were promises he kept <br />Throughout the night when others slept: <br />Now that he knows all that he did not know, <br />His wood is holy, and full of snow, <br />and all the beauty he made holy long long ago <br />In Boston, London, Washington, <br />And once by the Pacific and once in Moscow: <br /> and now, and now <br /> upon the fabulous blue river ever <br /> or singing from a great white bough <br /> <br />And wherever America is, now as before, <br /> and now as long, long ago <br />He sleeps and wakes forever more! <br /> <br /> "0 what a metaphysical victory <br /> The first day and night of death must be!"<br /><br />Delmore Schwartz<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/now-he-knows-all-there-is-to-know-now-he-is-acqu/
