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Home Burial Analysis

Author: poem of Robert Frost Type: poem Views: 166

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He saw her from the bottom of the stairs

Before she saw him. She was starting down,

Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.

She took a doubtful step and then undid it

To raise herself and look again. He spoke

Advancing toward her: "What is it you see

From up there always? -- for I want to know."

She turned and sank upon her skirts at that,

And her face changed from terrified to dull.

He said to gain time: "What is it you see?"

Mounting until she cowered under him.

"I will find out now -- you must tell me, dear."

She, in her place, refused him any help,

With the least stiffening of her neck and silence.

She let him look, sure that he wouldn't see,

Blind creature; and a while he didn't see.

But at last he murmured, "Oh" and again, "Oh."

"What is it -- what?" she said.

                        "Just that I see."

"You don't," she challenged. "Tell me what it is."

"The wonder is I didn't see at once.

I never noticed it from here before.

I must be wonted to it -- that's the reason.

The little graveyard where my people are!

So small the window frames the whole of it.

Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?

There are three stones of slate and one of marble,

Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight

On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those.

But I understand: it is not the stones,

But the child's mound ----"

                  "Don't, don't, don't,

      don't," she cried.

She withdrew, shrinking from beneath his arm

That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;

And turned on him with such a daunting look,

He said twice over before he knew himself:

"Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?"

"Not you! -- Oh, where's my hat? Oh, I don't need it!

I must get out of here. I must get air.--

I don't know rightly whether any man can."

"Amy! Don't go to someone else this time.

Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs."

He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.

"There's something I should like to ask you, dear."

"You don't know how to ask it."

                        "Help me, then."

Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.

"My words are nearly always an offense.

I don't know how to speak of anything

So as to please you. But I might be taught,

I should suppose. I can't say I see how.

A man must partly give up being a man

With womenfolk. We could have some arrangement

By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off

Anything special you're a-mind to name.

Though I don't like such things 'twixt those that love.

Two that don't love can't live together without them.

But two that do can't live together with them."

She moved the latch a little. "Don't -- don't go.

Don't carry it to someone else this time.

Tell me about it if it's something human.

Let me into your grief. I'm not so much

Unlike other folks as your standing there

Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.

I do think, though, you overdo it a little.

What was it brought you up to think it the thing

To take your mother-loss of a first child

So inconsolably -- in the face of love.

You'd think his memory might be satisfied ----"

"There you go sneering now!"

                       "I'm not, I'm not!

You make me angry. I'll come down to you.

God, what a woman! And it's come to this,

A man can't speak of his own child that's dead."

"You can't because you don't know how to speak.

If you had any feelings, you that dug

With your own hand -- how could you? -- his little grave;

I saw you from that very window there,

Making the gravel leap and leap in air,

Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly

And roll back down the mound beside the hole.

I thought, Who is that man? I didn't know you.

And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs

To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.

Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice

Out in the kitchen, and I don't know why,

But I went near to see with my own eyes.

You could sit there with the stains on your shoes

Of the fresh earth from your own baby's grave

And talk about your everyday concerns.

You had stood the spade up against the wall

Outside there in the entry, for I saw it."

"I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.

I'm cursed. God, if I don't believe I'm cursed."

"I can repeat the very words you were saying:

'Three foggy mornings and one rainy day

Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.'

Think of it, talk like that at such a time!

What had how long it takes a birch to rot

To do with what was in the darkened parlour?

You couldn't care! The nearest friends can go

With anyone to death, comes so far short

They might as well not try to go at all.

No, from the time when one is sick to death,

One is alone, and he dies more alone.

Friends make pretense of following to the grave,

But before one is in it, their minds are turned

And making the best of their way back to life

And living people, and things they understand.

But the world's evil. I won't have grief so

If I can change it. Oh, I won't, I won't!"

"There, you have said it all and you feel better.

You won't go now. You're crying. Close the door.

The heart's gone out of it: why keep it up?

Amyl There's someone coming down the road!"

"You -- oh, you think the talk is all. I must go --

Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you ----"

"If -- you -- do!" She was opening the door wider.

"Where do you mean to go? First tell me that.

I'll follow and bring you back by force. I will! --"


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||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

.: :.

This poem tells of how marriage beggins to fail once they have lost a child and the woman needs help to overcome the pas

| Posted on 2010-12-07 | by a guest

.: :.

The poem is about loss. Loss for the man and the woman. Not just loss of a child, but loss of their marriage.

| Posted on 2009-11-04 | by a guest

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Please tell me that you were using a poor english translator when you wrote that Hira Ali, because if you didn't, then let's just say that you might not be the most qualified person to be the head of the english department at wherever it is you work.

| Posted on 2009-09-16 | by a guest

.: :.

This poem is about death-- particularly the death of a child. It is not, as many have said, about who has accepted the death and who has not; that implies death is something to be decided upon, which is moot. The woman feels as if the man has not emotionally grieved the loss and the man feels as if the woman has yet to move on from grief. If anyone has ever lived in a home that has lost a child, this is commonplace. The poem is about the struggle of a couple who, loves one another, the child they lost, and their struggle to deal with the grief of that loss as well as one another's process of that grief. Grief is innately personal/individual. People grieve differently...not always or for certain, but sometimes. And it is hard to find common ground and unity on emotionally obscure/random territory.

| Posted on 2009-06-09 | by a guest

.: :.

Hello i think the poem is about a woman's inacceptance of death.

| Posted on 2009-02-25 | by a guest

.: :.

This story is a sad story about the faliure for lovers to connect.

| Posted on 2009-01-06 | by a guest

.: :.

This Poem was written by Frost in 1914 in North Of bosten.This is a Dramatic lyrics.This poem is basically about the couple who has lost their first baby.A man and a woman are behaviouring so indifferently at this hour when they needed the support of each other the most.
The husband has realized the bitter reality of death of his first baby but woman has got psychologically intense at the lost of his son.She is getting so emotional that love of her husband could not console her.A man has performed the most difficult task of digging the grave of his child but woman thinks that he has been so unemotional while digging the grave of his only child.
I think woman is getting overly emotional and is not ready to accept the bitter reality of the death of his son.
by Hira Ali
Department of English

| Posted on 2008-10-20 | by a guest

.: :.


by: Robert Frost (1874-1963)

LWAYS--I tell you this they learned--
Always at night when they returned
To the lonely house from far away
To lamps unlighted and fire gone gray,
They learned to rattle the lock and key
To give whatever might chance to be
Warning and time to be off in flight:
And preferring the out- to the in-door night,
They learned to leave the house-door wide
Until they had lit the lamp inside.

| Posted on 2007-12-03 | by a guest

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