Desert Places
Автор книги Robert Frost
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Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast.
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it - it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is, that loneliness.
Will be more lonely ere it will be less.
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow.
WIth no expression, nothing to express.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces.
Between stars - on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home.
To scare myself with my own desert places.
