Confuse and motionless dead leaves, no more beaten here and there; The last lone star has disappeared; luisa muraro HAZEL wither flowers; Still looking and torments the heart, but the steps they ask "where?".
Ah, when the human heart was never less than a betrayal Let drift of things, To yield gracefully to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love and a season?
Robert Frost (1874-1963), American poet often nestled in the woods and countryside, reflecting the rhythm of the seasons, the natural succession, the bud and end of things, and considers that only men is this reluctance to abandon the their fate - it's a love affair or a period of life, we are unable to close the accounts as do the trees, like the flowers. luisa muraro
. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE SENTENCE OF THE DAY We love the things we love for what they are. ROBERT FROST, Mountain Interval
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