To Earthward

　　by Robert Frost

　　 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

　　 Downhill 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.

　　 When stiff and sore and scarred

　　 I take away my hand

　　 From leaning on it hard

　　 In grass and sand，

　　 The hurt is not enough：

　　 I long for weight and strength

　　 To feel the earth as rough

　　 To all my length.

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