Home Burial Robert Frost

He saw her from the bottom of the stairs
Before she saw him. She was starting down
Looking back over her shoulder at some fear
She took a doubtful step and then undid it
To raise herself and look again. He spoke
Advancing toward her: 'What is it you see
From up there always--for I want to know.'
She turned and sank upon her skirts at that
And her face changed from terrified to dull
He said to gain time: 'What is it you see,'
Mounting until she cowered under him
'I will find out now--you must tell me, dear.'
She, in her place, refused him any help
With the least stiffening of her neck and silence
She let him look, sure that he wouldn't see
Blind creature; and awhile he didn't see
But at last he murmured, 'Oh,' and again, 'Oh.'

'What is it--what?' she said
'Just that I see.'

'You don't,' she challenged. 'Tell me what it is.'

'The wonder is I didn't see at once
I never noticed it from here before
I must be wonted to it--that's the reason
The little graveyard where my people are!
So small the window frames the whole of it
Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?
There are three stones of slate and one of marble
Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight
On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those
But I understand: it is not the stones
But the child's mound--'
'Don't, don't, don't, don't,' she cried

She withdrew shrinking from beneath his arm
That rested on the bannister, and slid downstairs;
And turned on him with such a daunting look
He said twice over before he knew himself:
'Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?'

'Not you! Oh, where's my hat? Oh, I don't need it!
I must get out of here. I must get air
I don't know rightly whether any man can.'

'Amy! Don't go to someone else this time
Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs.'
He sat and fixed his chin between his fists
'There's something I should like to ask you, dear.'

'You don't know how to ask it.'

'Help me, then.'

Her fingers moved the latch for all reply

'My words are nearly always an offense
I don't know how to speak of anything
So as to please you. But I might be taught
I should suppose. I can't say I see how
A man must partly give up being a man
With women-folk. We could have some arrangement
By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off
Anything special you're a-mind to name
Though I don't like such things 'twixt those that love
Two that don't love can't live together without them
But two that do can't live together with them.'
She moved the latch a little. 'Don't--don't go
Don't carry it to someone else this time
Tell me about it if it's something human
Let me into your grief. I'm not so much
Unlike other folks as your standing there
Apart would make me out. Give me my chance
I do think, though, you overdo it a little
What was it brought you up to think it the thing
To take your mother--loss of a first child
So inconsolably--in the face of love
You'd think his memory might be satisfied--'