Good Hours

Robert Frost's home on Homer Noble farm in Vermont

Robert Frost is my favorite poet. He is so inspiring, he instantly puts me in a beautiful mood. But usually this is at work, when I'm bored with typing up spreadsheets, when I read a poem, or seven, while I'm waiting for the good hours to come.

Good Hours

I had for my winter evening walk--

No one at all with whom to talk,

But I had the cottages in a row

Up to their shining eyes in snow.

And I thought I had the folk within:

I had the sound of a violin;

I had a glimpse through curtain laces

Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound.

I went till there were no cottages found.

I turned and repented, but coming back

I saw no window but that was black.

Over the snow my creaking feet

Disturbed the slumbering village street

Like profanation, by your leave,

At ten o'clock of a winter eve.