Robert Frost, on Lent

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast In a field I looked into going past, And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,

But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it - it is theirs. All animals are smothered in their lairs. I am too absent-spirited to count;

The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is, that loneliness Will be more lonely ere it will be less - A blanker whiteness of benighted snow

WIth no expression, nothing to express.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces Between stars - on stars where no human race is. I have it in me so much nearer home

To scare myself with my own desert places.