I read this poem to Stephen the other night at bedtime and he’s been asking for it ever since even though he thought it was scary the first time around. Now he’s trying in earnest to memorize it and mutters the first lines to himself at random moments. I also found his commentary very amusing.

August 1915
The Sound of Trees
by Robert Frost1

I wonder about the trees:
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place2?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace
And fixity3 in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice,
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone4.

The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 116, No. 2, p. 224

1Stephen’s comment: “Robert Frosting. I like frosting!”
2“Dwelling place nice place to live.”
3“When the lightbulb breaks, we fix it.”
4“When you go away, you never ever come back.”