There's a place called Far-away Meadow We never shall mow in again, Or such is the talk at the farmhouse: The meadow is finished with men. Then now is the chance for the flowers That can't stand mowers and plowers. It must be now, through, in season Before the not mowing brings trees on, Before trees, seeing the opening, March into a shadowy claim. The trees are all I'm afraid of, That flowers can't bloom in the shade of; It's no more men I'm afraid of; The meadow is done with the tame. The place for the moment is ours For you, oh tumultuous flowers, To go to waste and go wild in, All shapes and colors of flowers, I needn't call you by name. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: GEORGE GRAY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MEDITATION ON A JUNE EVENING by CONRAD AIKEN CAMPUS SONNET: RETURN - 1917 by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET JOHNNY SPAIN'S WHITE HEIFER by HAYDEN CARRUTH WORDS IN A CERTAIN APPROPRIATE MODE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SACHEM OF THE CLOUDS (A THANKSGIVING LEGEND) by ROBERT FROST |