simile life is too much like a pathless wood explanation

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. That would be good both going and coming back. Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,īut dipped its top and set me down again.

I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.Īnd climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebsįrom a twig’s having lashed across it open.Īnd half grant what I wish and snatch me away So was I once myself a swinger of birches.Īnd life is too much like a pathless wood But those constant worries about whether we are doing the right thing the calls on our time that seem so piffling the reluctance of others to make decisions on anything without our input well they all can just get too much…. We wouldn’t want to be gone forever we would miss our loved ones and yearn, eventually, to return. I thought, perhaps, that Robert Frost had written about a moment we all have at some point in our lives (unless we are fortunate types who believe we have got everything right, can cope easily with all life throws at us and have boundless energy) when really we would just like to run away for a while. But this week, as I dashed hither and thither whilst not feeling, frankly, on top form Birches seemed to speak to me personally. Robert Frost is one of my favourite poets and Birches one of the poems I have read most often. As people who read this blog will know I don’t need to be in an odd frame of mind to read poetry but there are times when it speaks to me with a louder voice and offers one or two lines that so describe my life view that I almost stand up wherever I might be reading and shout ‘YES’!!!

Simile life is too much like a pathless wood explanation