This is one of my favs from Robert Frost. There are so many things that I read and it seems like time stops for a few seconds and I completely get it. And then a few more seconds go by and I'm caught right back up into all the things that don't really matter, but we all like to pretend that they do. Am I making any sense? Maybe not, but again... i get it. This is a poem that gave me one of those moments. It is the second half of Robert Frost's poem "Birches" first published in 1915.
| "So was I once myself a swinger of birches; | |
| And so I dream of going back to be. | |
| It's when I'm weary of considerations, | |
| And life is too much like a pathless wood | 45 |
| Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs | |
| Broken across it, and one eye is weeping | |
| From a twig's having lashed across it open. | |
| I'd like to get away from earth awhile | |
| And then come back to it and begin over. | 50 |
| May no fate wilfully misunderstand me | |
| And half grant what I wish and snatch me away | |
| Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: | |
| I don't know where it's likely to go better. | |
| I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, | 55 |
| And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk | |
| Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, | |
| But dipped its top and set me down again. | |
| That would be good both going and coming back. | |
| One could do worse than be a swinger of birches" |
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