POEM | Stars

How countlessly they congregate

  O’er our tumultuous snow,

Which flows in shapes as tall as trees

  When wintry winds do blow!—

As if with keenness for our fate,

  Out faltering few steps on

To white rest, and a place of rest

  Invisible at dawn,—

And yet with neither love nor hate,

  Those stars like some snow-white

Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes

  Without the gift of sight. 

Tribute to Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963

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