Robert Frost

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,           
  Our 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.   

 

From The Poetry of Robert Frost by Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1916, 1923, 1928, 1930, 1934, 1939, 1947, 1949, © 1969 by Holt Rinehart and Winston, Inc. Copyright 1936, 1942, 1944, 1945, 1947, 1948, 1951, 1953, 1954, © 1956, 1958, 1959, 1961, 1962 by Robert Frost. Copyright © 1962, 1967, 1970 by Leslie Frost Ballantine.