Where the sighing woods are, Under wide, gray skies, With the old trees bending, And the tired whispers low.
For the shadows pass and linger, And the night winds fold, And there beneath the sighing, I listen till I go.
- Robert Frost
Where the sighing woods are, Under wide, gray skies, With the old trees bending, And the tired whispers low.
For the shadows pass and linger, And the night winds fold, And there beneath the sighing, I listen till I go.