Explore "The Code" by Robert Frost on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There were three in the meadow by the brook / Gathering up windrows, piling cocks of hay, / With an eye always lifted toward the west / Where an irregular sun-bordered cloud / Darkly advanced with a perpetual dagger / Flickering across its bosom. Suddenly / One helper, thrusting pitchfork in the ground, / Marched himself off the field and home. One stayed.
The town-bred farmer failed to understand.