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The Vantage Point by Robert Frost

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Robert Frost (March 26, 1874 January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)
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The Vantage Point

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If tires of trees I seek again mankind, Well I know where to hie me--in the dawn, To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn. There amid loggin juniper reclined, Myself unseen, I see in white defined Far off the homes of men, and farther still, The graves of men on an opposing hill, Living or dead, whichever are to mind. And if by noon I have too much of these, I have but to turn on my arm, and lo, The sun-burned hillside sets my face aglow, My breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze, I smell the earth, I smell the bruisd plant, I look into the crater of the ant.

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Robert Frost
Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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