“To Earthward” by Robert Frost

Love at the lips was touch

As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things, The flow of — was it musk

From hidden grapevine springs

Downhill at dusk?

I had the swirl and ache

From sprays of honeysuckle

That when they’re gathered shake

Dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those

Seemed strong when I was young; The petal of the rose

It was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks salt, That is not dashed with pain

And weariness and fault; I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark

Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark

And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred

I take away my hand

From leaning on it hard

In grass and sand,

The hurt is not enough:

I long for weight and strength

To feel the earth as rough

To all my length.

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