Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended
I have come by the highway home
And lo, it is ended

The leaves are all dead on the ground
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow
When others are sleeping

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still
No longer blown hither and thither
The last lone aster is gone
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither
The heart is still aching to seek
But the feet question, Whither

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things
To yield with a grace to reason
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

Reluctance, by Robert Frost

Prologue / Main Pool: pool #42106