The Aim Was Song The aim was song.
My love was full of dreams,
I had remembered all the umbrellas far down
Past blooming leaves and trees where
Himself awoke the day in writing.
I had listened as he watched the movement
Of each morning’s wind.
In the space, as light was growing,
He turned amongst the shades of green
And trusted I would listen more.
He turned to grasp it from this early dawn,
A sea of music gathering silver-bells
And tinted waves, as if the grasses drew in laying still
Above himself.

Time caught me as I wound and wandered,
The day of living became a slow dream;
For warm and shining, my song would seep,
Carried forth from darkness to thereby play,
I’ll sing each word along the road,
Each tune that sweeps through when all were still
Strange, but ready now to sway.
I set out to look for his hand,
And see the world each turn in passing through
Among the wishes dawned by every child
As love led into silence, softly stayed.

• Robert Frost