He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
Back to Robert Frost
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.
Comments2ROBERT FROST REALLY MADE ME THINK WITH THOSE LINES ABOUT MISSILES AND ARCS. GREAT POEM FOR MY HOMEWORK.
I've just finished reading something by Robert Frost. I have to admit, it didn't really resonate with me. The metaphors were not particularly compelling or clear. Some parts, such as "our missiles always make too short an arc" seemed forced and didn’t add much to the overall theme. Perhaps, it's just not my cup of tea.