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The Span Of Life

Robert Frost
The old dog barks backwards without getting up. I can remember when he was a pup.

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More by Robert Frost

The Tuft of Flowers
I went to turn the grass once after one / Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
A Cliff Dwelling
There sandy seems the golden sky / And golden seems the sandy plain.
October
O hushed October morning mild, / Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
The Bonfire
OH, let’s go up the hill and scare ourselves, / As reckless as the best of them to-night,