You come too. The afternoon is warm, The princess from the west is smiling, With the flowers in her arms and the trees ablaze. The mountain’s song seems quite childish, And the sun is fresh upon its way.

You come to me like the games of the summer, In stone you carve all things linear, Your smile remains as eternal as the hills, And if I talk of my life or something clearer, It’s the evening mist that makes all things real.

The earth waits at a breathless pause, And the colors dance like the games of a child; With the world asleep, with nowhere to run, It’s my spirit that kisses the wild, wild world.

• Robert Frost