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The Impulse


It was too lonely for her there,

And too wild,

And since there were but two of them,

And no child,


And work was little in the house,

She was free,

And followed where he furrowed field,

Or felled tree.


She rested on a log and tossed

The fresh chips,

With a song only to herself

On her lips.


And once she went to break a bough

Of black alder.

She strayed so far she scarcely heard

When he called heró


And didnít answeródidnít speakó

Or return.

She stood, and then she ran and hid

In the fern.


He never found her, though he looked


And he asked at her motherís house

Was she there.


Sudden and swift and light as that

The ties gave,

And he learned of finalities

Besides the grave.


Robert Frost


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Patti's Place

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