In the woods too dark to see And where the blacker radios hum, I say to the trees, “Speak to me!” And light up the night like a star.

Under the lash or brazen moon The shooting stars fly thick today, The beauties they bring seem too soon And then the bright showers bock from the sky.

But when it rains the leaves reek And rags are laden in underbrush. I go to pieces at the frightful creek And hear the bodies go out in hush.

• Robert Frost