I suppose some readers will be surprised to find such a sexy, delicately doom-laden poem by Robert Frost as "To Earthward." In fact, Frost is a powerfully erotic writer, from early poems like "Mowing" and on through the disturbances of "The Hill Wife." The sensuality of "To Earthward" is acted out by its reaching, lingering, abrupt, or stretched sentences as they tease and cavort with rhyme and line ending. The poem is the best lesson I know in what a line of verse is: Read it aloud, letting your voice continue past the line ending, when that is what the syntax wants to do.
Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things
The flow of--was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
TODAY IN SLATE
Black people’s disdain for “proper English” and academic achievement is a myth.
Alabama’s Insane New Abortion Law Gives Fetuses Lawyers and Puts Teenage Girls on Trial
Tattoo Parlors Have Become a Great Investment
A Jaw-Dropping Political Ad Aimed at Young Women, Apparently
Big Problems With the Secret Service Were Reported Last Year. Nobody Cared.
How White Boy Rick, a legendary Detroit cocaine dealer, helped the FBI uncover brazen police corruption.
Beautiful, sexy, and fascinatingly mean.