The Pasture


I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I shan't be gone long. -- You come too. 

I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I shan't be gone long. -- You come too. 


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Return to the Robert Frost Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; The Road Not Taken

It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.