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Birches

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When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
...

- Birches, by Robert Frost

Comments

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niccolino59

Beautiful poem, beautiful picture.

roerick3

Thanks, Don, I thought about this poem over the last few days when all of you were posting pictures of the ice storm but could only remember the first few lines and not the author.

smllpkg101

I had stop and reread this Frost poem and gaze at the ice laden trees. Love the imagery of both!

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