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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506840" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Home Burial</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He saw her from the bottom of the stairs<br>Before she saw him. She was starting down,<br>Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.<br>She took a doubtful step and then undid it<br>To raise herself and look again. He spoke<br>Advancing toward her: "What is it you see<br>From up there always? -- for I want to know."<br>She turned and sank upon her skirts at that,<br>And her face changed from terrified to dull.<br>He said to gain time: "What is it you see?"<br>Mounting until she cowered under him.<br>"I will find out now -- you must tell me, dear."<br>She, in her place, refused him any help,<br>With the least stiffening of her neck and silence.<br>She let him look, sure that he wouldn't see,<br>Blind creature; and a while he didn't see.<br>But at last he murmured, "Oh" and again, "Oh."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"What is it -- what?" she said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> "Just that I see."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"You don't," she challenged. "Tell me what it is."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The wonder is I didn't see at once.<br>I never noticed it from here before.<br>I must be wonted to it -- that's the reason.<br>The little graveyard where my people are!<br>So small the window frames the whole of it.<br>Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?<br>There are three stones of slate and one of marble,<br>Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight<br>On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those.<br>But I understand: it is not the stones,<br>But the child's mound ----"</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> "Don't, don't, don't,<br> don't," she cried.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She withdrew, shrinking from beneath his arm<br>That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;<br>And turned on him with such a daunting look,<br>He said twice over before he knew himself:<br>"Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Not you! -- Oh, where's my hat? Oh, I don't need it!<br>I must get out of here. I must get air.--<br>I don't know rightly whether any man can."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Amy! Don't go to someone else this time.<br>Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs."<br>He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.<br>"There's something I should like to ask you, dear."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"You don't know how to ask it."<br> "Help me, then."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"My words are nearly always an offense.<br>I don't know how to speak of anything<br>So as to please you. But I might be taught,<br>I should suppose. I can't say I see how.<br>A man must partly give up being a man<br>With womenfolk. We could have some arrangement<br>By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off<br>Anything special you're a-mind to name.<br>Though I don't like such things 'twixt those that love.<br>Two that don't love can't live together without them.<br>But two that do can't live together with them."<br>She moved the latch a little. "Don't -- don't go.<br>Don't carry it to someone else this time.<br>Tell me about it if it's something human.<br>Let me into your grief. I'm not so much<br>Unlike other folks as your standing there<br>Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.<br>I do think, though, you overdo it a little.<br>What was it brought you up to think it the thing<br>To take your mother-loss of a first child<br>So inconsolably -- in the face of love.<br>You'd think his memory might be satisfied ----"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"There you go sneering now!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> "I'm not, I'm not!<br>You make me angry. I'll come down to you.<br>God, what a woman! And it's come to this,<br>A man can't speak of his own child that's dead."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"You can't because you don't know how to speak.<br>If you had any feelings, you that dug<br>With your own hand -- how could you? -- his little grave;<br>I saw you from that very window there,<br>Making the gravel leap and leap in air,<br>Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly<br>And roll back down the mound beside the hole.<br>I thought, Who is that man? I didn't know you.<br>And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs<br>To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.<br>Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice<br>Out in the kitchen, and I don't know why,<br>But I went near to see with my own eyes.<br>You could sit there with the stains on your shoes<br>Of the fresh earth from your own baby's grave<br>And talk about your everyday concerns.<br>You had stood the spade up against the wall<br>Outside there in the entry, for I saw it."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.<br>I'm cursed. God, if I don't believe I'm cursed."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I can repeat the very words you were saying:<br>'Three foggy mornings and one rainy day<br>Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.'<br>Think of it, talk like that at such a time!<br>What had how long it takes a birch to rot<br>To do with what was in the darkened parlour?<br>You couldn't care! The nearest friends can go<br>With anyone to death, comes so far short<br>They might as well not try to go at all.<br>No, from the time when one is sick to death,<br>One is alone, and he dies more alone.<br>Friends make pretense of following to the grave,<br>But before one is in it, their minds are turned<br>And making the best of their way back to life<br>And living people, and things they understand.<br>But the world's evil. I won't have grief so<br>If I can change it. Oh, I won't, I won't!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"There, you have said it all and you feel better.<br>You won't go now. You're crying. Close the door.<br>The heart's gone out of it: why keep it up?<br>Amyl There's someone coming down the road!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"You -- oh, you think the talk is all. I must go --<br>Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you ----"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"If -- you -- do!" She was opening the door wider.<br>"Where do you mean to go? First tell me that.<br>I'll follow and bring you back by force. I will! --"</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Frost">Robert Frost</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506840" data-title="Home Burial de Robert Frost" data-description="He saw her from the bottom of the stairs Before she saw him. She was starting down, Looking back over her shoulder at some fear. She took a doubtful step and then undid it To raise herself and look again. He spoke Advancing toward her: "What ..."></div> </div> </div>
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