It was too lonely for her there, <br />And too wild, <br />And since there were but two of them, <br />And no child, <br /> <br />And work was little in the house, <br />She was free, <br />And followed where he furrowed field, <br />Or felled tree. <br /> <br />She rested on a log and tossed <br />The fresh chips, <br />With a song only to herself <br />On her lips. <br /> <br />And once she went to break a bough <br />Of black alder. <br />She strayed so far she scarcely heard <br />When he called her- <br /> <br />And didn't answer-didn't speak- <br />Or return. <br />She stood, and then she ran and hid <br />In the fern. <br /> <br />He never found her, though he looked <br />Everywhere, <br />And he asked at her mother's house <br />Was she there. <br /> <br />Sudden and swift and light as that <br />The ties gave, <br />And he learned of finalities <br />Besides the grave.<br /><br />Robert Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-impulse/
