Gathering Leaves
Автор книги Robert Frost
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Spades take up leaves.
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves.
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise.
Of rustling all day.
Like rabbit and deer.
Running away.
But the mountains I raise.
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms.
And into my face.
I may load and unload.
Again and again.
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller.
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
