Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Spoils Of The Dead - Poem by Robert Frost

Spoils Of The Dead  

      - by Robert Frost

Two fairies it was 
  On a still summer day 
    Came forth in the woods 
    With the flowers to play. 

    The flowers they plucked 
    They cast on the ground 
    For others, and those 
    For still others they found. 

    Flower-guided it was 
    That they came as they ran 
    On something that lay 
    In the shape of a man. 

    The snow must have made 
    The feathery bed 
    When this one fell 
    On the sleep of the dead. 

    But the snow was gone 
    A long time ago, 
    And the body he wore 
    Nigh gone with the snow. 

    The fairies drew near 
    And keenly espied 
    A ring on his hand 
    And a chain at his side. 

    They knelt in the leaves 
    And eerily played 
    With the glittering things, 
    And were not afraid. 

    And when they went home 
    To hide in their burrow, 
    They took them along 
    To play with to-morrow. 

    When you came on death, 
    Did you not come flower-guided 
    Like the elves in the wood? 
    I remember that I did. 

    But I recognised death 
    With sorrow and dread, 
    And I hated and hate 
    The spoils of the dead.

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