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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=499126" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>March 26, 1974</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=499126" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">R.Frost 100th B'day</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=499126" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The air was soft, the ground still cold.<br>In wet dull pastures where I strolled<br>Was something I could not believe.<br>Dead grass appeared to slide and heave,<br>Though still too frozen-flat to stir,<br>And rocks to twitch, and all to blur.<br>What was this rippling of the land?<br>Was matter getting out of hand<br>And making free with natural law?<br>I stopped and blinked, and then I saw<br>A fact as eerie as a dream.<br>There was a subtle flood of stream<br>Moving upon the face of things.<br>It came from standing pools and springs<br>And what of snow was still around;<br>It came of winter's giving ground<br>So that the freeze was coming out,<br>As when a set mind, blessed by doubt,<br>Relaxes into mother-wit.<br>Flowers, I said, will come of it.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Richard+Wilbur">Richard Wilbur</a></strong></div>

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