Another poem that I like from Frost is Acceptance:
When the spent sun throws up it rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
As what has happened. Birds, at least, must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, “Safe!”
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future, “Let what will be, be.”
And, of course, we must choose the poem written for John F. Kennedy’s Inauguration, The Gift Outright:
The land was ours before we were the land’s.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England’s, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.