In a Vale by Robert Frost — Read

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When I was young, we dwelt in a vale / By a misty fen that rang all night, / And thus it was the maidens pale / I knew so well, whose garments trail / Across the reeds to a window light.

The fen had every kind of bloom, / And for every kind there was a face, / And a voice that has sounded in my room / Across the sill from the outer gloom.

Each came singly unto her place, / But all came every night with the mist; / And often they brought so much to say / Of things of moment to which, they wist, / One so lonely was fain to list, / That the stars were almost faded away / Before the last went, heavy with dew, / Back to the place from which she came-

Where the bird was before it flew, / Where the flower was before it grew, / Where bird and flower were one and the same.

And thus it is I know so well / Why the flower has odor, the bird has song.

You have only to ask me, and I can tell.

No, not vainly there did I dwell, / Nor vainly listen all the night long.

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