The Impulse by Robert Frost

It was too lonely for her there,

And too wild,

And since there were but two of them,

And no child,

 

And work was little in the house,

She was free,

And followed where he furrowed field,

Or felled tree.

 

She rested on a log and tossed

The fresh chips,

With a song only to herself

On her lips.

 

And once she went to break a bough

Of black alder.

She strayed so far she scarcely heard

When he called her...

 

And didn't answer...didn't speak...

Or return.

She stood, and then she ran and hid

In the fern.

 

He never found her, though he looked

Everywhere,

And he asked at her mother's house

Was she there....

 









The Impulse by Robert Frost