Atmosphere

A Winter Eden

 by Robert Frost

A winter garden in an alder swamp,

Where conies now come out to sun and romp,

As near a paradise as it can be

And not melt snow or start a dormant tree.

It lifts existence on a plane of snow

One level higher than the earth below,

One level nearer heaven overhead,

And last year's berries shining scarlet red.

It lifts a gaunt luxuriating beast

Where he can stretch and hold his highest feat

On some wild apple tree's young tender bark,

What well may prove the year's high girdle mark.

So near to paradise all pairing ends:

Here loveless birds now flock as winter friends,

Content with bud-inspecting. They presume

To say which buds are leaf and which are bloom.

A feather-hammer gives a double knock.

This Eden day is done at two o'clock.

An hour of winter day might seem too short

To make it worth life's while to wake and sport. 

Atmosphere 

Inscription for a Garden Wall

Winds blow the open grassy places bleak;

But where this old wall burns a sunny cheek,

They eddy over it too toppling weak

To blow the earth or anything self-clear;

Moisture and color and odor thicken here.

The hours of daylight gather atmosphere. 

October

O hushed October morning mild, 

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; 

Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild, 

Should waste them all. 

The crows above the forest call; 

Tomorrow they may form and go. 

O hushed October morning mild, 

Begin the hours of this day slow. 

Make the day seem to us less brief. 

Hearts not averse to being beguiled, 

Beguile us in the way you know. 

Release one leaf at break of day; 

At noon release another leaf; 

One from our trees, one far away. 

Retard the sun with gentle mist; 

Enchant the land with amethyst. 

Slow, slow! 

For the grapes' sake, if the were all, 

Whose elaves already are burnt with frost, 

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—

For the grapes' sake along the all.