CAMELOT FANTASIES

— 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 or sand,

 The hurt is not enough:
 I long for weight and strength
 To feel the earth as rough
 To all my length.