By: Robert Frost


Mowing by Robert Frost is a poem that shows how conventional is STILL good enough for some people. Like how some nowadays prefer a paper book over a digital copy, is how he chooses to cut his crops with a scythe. But there's a deeper meaning than that. This poem represents how the easy way is not the best way all the time. You end up missing out on important things in life when you choose to get things done the easiest way possible. Robert Frost imagined how much people were missing out in in the late 1800's, but now it applies now more than it ever did then.


By Robert Frost
There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself; (small pause)
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in

Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to me.