Editor’s Note: It was in 1912 that England first recognized and applauded the poetry of ROBERT FROST. Last spring — forty-five years later —he went back for a reunion and an ovation such as England has never accorded to any other American poet.
PART ONE
Kitty Hawk, O Kitty,
There was once a song,
Even a rather great
Emblematic ditty,
I might well have sung
When I came here young
Out and down along
Past Elizabeth City
Sixty years ago.
I was to be sure
Out of sorts with Fate,
Wandering to and fro
In the earth alone,
You might think too poorSpirited to care
Who I was or where
I was being blown
Down along the coast
Like a crumpled betterLeft-unwritten letter
I to waste had thrown — Given up for dead.
Oh, but not to boast
Ever since Nag’s Head
Had my heart been great,
Not to say elate,
With a need the gale
Filled me with to shout
Summary riposte
To its dreary wail
There’s no knowing what
Love is all about.
Poets know a lot.
Never did I fail
Of an answer back
To the zodiac
When in heartless chorus
Aries and Taurus
Gemini and Cancer
Mocked me for an answer.
I felt in me wing
To have up and flung
A heroic fling;
And might well have sung
The initial flight
That was to be flown
Into the sublime
Off these sands of Time
Time had seen amass
From his hourglass.
That initial flight
I can see now might
Well have been my own.
Once I told the master
Later when we met
I had been here too
As a young Alastor
When the scene was set
For the flight he flew
Long before he flew it.
Would he mind had I
Had him beaten to it?
Could he tell me why
Be original?
Why was it so very,
Very necessary
To be first of all?
How about the lie
Someone else was first?
He saw I was daffing.
He took this from me.
Still it was no laughing
Matter I could see.
He made no reply.
There was such a lie
Money and maneuver
Fostered overlong
Until Herbert Hoover
Raised this tower shaft
To undo the wrong.
That was why this craft
Man was first to waft
Like a kiss to God
Stayed so long abroad
In repository
And appreciation
With a foreign nation.
Of all crimes the worst
Is the theft of glory,
Even more accursed
Than to rob the grave.
’Twas a sorry story.
But we needn’t rave:
All has been redressed.
And as for my jest
I might have one claim
To the Runway’s fame
Had I only sung,
That was all my tongue.
I can’t make it seem
More than that my theme
Might have been a dream
Of Cape Hatteras,
Or else Roanoke,
One more fond alas
For the seed of folk
Sowed in vain by Raleigh‚
Raleigh of the cloak.
And some other folly.
Getting too befriended,
As so often, ended
Any melancholy
I was to have sung.
For I fell among
Some kind of committee
From Elizabeth City,
Each and every one
Loaded with a gun
And a demijohn
(Need a body ask
If it was a flask?)
Out to kill a duck
Or perhaps a swan
Over Currituck.
This was not their day
Anything to slay
Unless one another.
Being out of luck
Made them no less gay,
No, nor less polite.
They included me
Like a little brother
In their revelry
Even to the height — All concern to take
Care my innocence
Should at all events
Tenderly be kept
For good gracious’ sake.
And if they were gentle
They were sentimental.
One drank to his mother
While another wept.
Something made it sad
For me to break loose
From the need they had
To make themselves glad
They were of no use.
Something made it sad;
Manners made it hard,
But that night I stole
Off on the unbounded
Beaches where the whole
Of the Atlantic pounded.
There I next fell in
With a lone coast guard
On midnight patrol‚
Who as of a sect
Asked about my soul
And whereall I’d been.
Apropos of sin,
Did I recollect
How the wreckers wrecked
Theodosia Burr
Off this very shore?
’Twas to punish her
But her father more — We don’t know what for:
There was no confession.
Things they think she wore
Still sometimes occur
In someone’s possession
Here at Kitty Hawk.
We can have no notion
Of the strange devotion
Burr had for his daughter:
He was too devoted.
So it was in talk
We prolonged the walk,
On one side the ocean
And on one a water
Of the inner sound;
And the moon was full,
As the poet said
And I aptly quoted,
That old laurel-crowned
Lord of a John Bull.
The moon’s being full
And right overhead,
Small but strong and round.
By its tidal pull
Made all being full.
Here it was again
In the self-same day,
I at odds with men
Came twice on their pity,
Equally profound
For a son astray
And a daughter drowned.
There was once a song,
Even a rather great
Emblematic ditty,
I might well have sung
When I came here young
Out and down along
Past Elizabeth City
Sixty years ago.
I was to be sure
Out of sorts with Fate,
Wandering to and fro
In the earth alone,
You might think too poorSpirited to care
Who I was or where
I was being blown
Down along the coast
Like a crumpled betterLeft-unwritten letter
I to waste had thrown — Given up for dead.
Oh, but not to boast
Ever since Nag’s Head
Had my heart been great,
Not to say elate,
With a need the gale
Filled me with to shout
Summary riposte
To its dreary wail
There’s no knowing what
Love is all about.
Poets know a lot.
Never did I fail
Of an answer back
To the zodiac
When in heartless chorus
Aries and Taurus
Gemini and Cancer
Mocked me for an answer.
I felt in me wing
To have up and flung
A heroic fling;
And might well have sung
The initial flight
That was to be flown
Into the sublime
Off these sands of Time
Time had seen amass
From his hourglass.
That initial flight
I can see now might
Well have been my own.
Once I told the master
Later when we met
I had been here too
As a young Alastor
When the scene was set
For the flight he flew
Long before he flew it.
Would he mind had I
Had him beaten to it?
Could he tell me why
Be original?
Why was it so very,
Very necessary
To be first of all?
How about the lie
Someone else was first?
He saw I was daffing.
He took this from me.
Still it was no laughing
Matter I could see.
He made no reply.
There was such a lie
Money and maneuver
Fostered overlong
Until Herbert Hoover
Raised this tower shaft
To undo the wrong.
That was why this craft
Man was first to waft
Like a kiss to God
Stayed so long abroad
In repository
And appreciation
With a foreign nation.
Of all crimes the worst
Is the theft of glory,
Even more accursed
Than to rob the grave.
’Twas a sorry story.
But we needn’t rave:
All has been redressed.
And as for my jest
I might have one claim
To the Runway’s fame
Had I only sung,
That was all my tongue.
I can’t make it seem
More than that my theme
Might have been a dream
Of Cape Hatteras,
Or else Roanoke,
One more fond alas
For the seed of folk
Sowed in vain by Raleigh‚
Raleigh of the cloak.
And some other folly.
Getting too befriended,
As so often, ended
Any melancholy
I was to have sung.
For I fell among
Some kind of committee
From Elizabeth City,
Each and every one
Loaded with a gun
And a demijohn
(Need a body ask
If it was a flask?)
Out to kill a duck
Or perhaps a swan
Over Currituck.
This was not their day
Anything to slay
Unless one another.
Being out of luck
Made them no less gay,
No, nor less polite.
They included me
Like a little brother
In their revelry
Even to the height — All concern to take
Care my innocence
Should at all events
Tenderly be kept
For good gracious’ sake.
And if they were gentle
They were sentimental.
One drank to his mother
While another wept.
Something made it sad
For me to break loose
From the need they had
To make themselves glad
They were of no use.
Something made it sad;
Manners made it hard,
But that night I stole
Off on the unbounded
Beaches where the whole
Of the Atlantic pounded.
There I next fell in
With a lone coast guard
On midnight patrol‚
Who as of a sect
Asked about my soul
And whereall I’d been.
Apropos of sin,
Did I recollect
How the wreckers wrecked
Theodosia Burr
Off this very shore?
’Twas to punish her
But her father more — We don’t know what for:
There was no confession.
Things they think she wore
Still sometimes occur
In someone’s possession
Here at Kitty Hawk.
We can have no notion
Of the strange devotion
Burr had for his daughter:
He was too devoted.
So it was in talk
We prolonged the walk,
On one side the ocean
And on one a water
Of the inner sound;
And the moon was full,
As the poet said
And I aptly quoted,
That old laurel-crowned
Lord of a John Bull.
The moon’s being full
And right overhead,
Small but strong and round.
By its tidal pull
Made all being full.
Here it was again
In the self-same day,
I at odds with men
Came twice on their pity,
Equally profound
For a son astray
And a daughter drowned.
Kitty Hawk, O Kitty,
Know you no dismay.
Men will get away.
And some time in some
Mood akin to pity
You would weep no less
For man’s small success
Than his unsuccess.
You’d be overcome
In the deathless scene
When that common scoff,
Poor Darius Green,
And his fool machine
Finally took off.
Know you no dismay.
Men will get away.
And some time in some
Mood akin to pity
You would weep no less
For man’s small success
Than his unsuccess.
You’d be overcome
In the deathless scene
When that common scoff,
Poor Darius Green,
And his fool machine
Finally took off.
PART TWO
When the chance went by
For my Muse to fly
From this Runway beach
As a figure of speech
In a flight of words,
Little I imagined
Men would treat the sky
To a flying pageant
Like a thousand birds.
Neither you nor I
Ever thought to fly,
Oh, but fly we did,
Literally fly.
That’s because though mere
Lilliputians we’re
What Catullus called
Somewhat (aliquid).
Mind you we are mind.
We are not the kind
To stay too confined.
After having crawled
Round the place on foot
And done yeoman’s share
Of just staying put,
We arose from there,
And we scaled a plane
So the stilly air
Almost pulled our hair
Like a hurricane.
For my Muse to fly
From this Runway beach
As a figure of speech
In a flight of words,
Little I imagined
Men would treat the sky
To a flying pageant
Like a thousand birds.
Neither you nor I
Ever thought to fly,
Oh, but fly we did,
Literally fly.
That’s because though mere
Lilliputians we’re
What Catullus called
Somewhat (aliquid).
Mind you we are mind.
We are not the kind
To stay too confined.
After having crawled
Round the place on foot
And done yeoman’s share
Of just staying put,
We arose from there,
And we scaled a plane
So the stilly air
Almost pulled our hair
Like a hurricane.
This we’re certain of,
All we do and try
All we really love Is to signify.
Pulpiteers will censure
Our godless adventure
Since we took that fall
From the apple tree
Into what they call
The Material.
But God’s own descent
Into flesh was meant
As a demonstration
That the supreme merit
Lay in risking spirit
In substantiation.
Westerners inherit
A design of living
Deeper into matter
(Not without some patter
Of the soul’s misgiving).
All the science zest
To materialize
By on-penetration
Into earth and skies
(Don’t forget the latter
Is but further matter),
Has been West Northwest.
If it was not wise
Tell me why the East
Seemingly has ceased
From its long stagnation
In mere meditation
And made such a fuss
To catch up with us.
Can it be to flatter
Us with emulation?
All we do and try
All we really love Is to signify.
Pulpiteers will censure
Our godless adventure
Since we took that fall
From the apple tree
Into what they call
The Material.
But God’s own descent
Into flesh was meant
As a demonstration
That the supreme merit
Lay in risking spirit
In substantiation.
Westerners inherit
A design of living
Deeper into matter
(Not without some patter
Of the soul’s misgiving).
All the science zest
To materialize
By on-penetration
Into earth and skies
(Don’t forget the latter
Is but further matter),
Has been West Northwest.
If it was not wise
Tell me why the East
Seemingly has ceased
From its long stagnation
In mere meditation
And made such a fuss
To catch up with us.
Can it be to flatter
Us with emulation?
The uplifted sight
We enjoyed at night
When instead of sheep
We were counting stars,
Not to go to sleep,
But to stay awake
For good gracious’ sake,
Naming stars to boot
To avoid mistake,
Jupiter and Mars,
Just like Pullman cars,
Was no vain pursuit.
Some have preached and taught
All there was to thought
Was to master Nature
By some nomenclature.
But if not a law
’Twas an end foregone
Anything we saw
And thus fastened on
With an epithet
We would see to yet — We would want to touch
Not to mention clutch.
We enjoyed at night
When instead of sheep
We were counting stars,
Not to go to sleep,
But to stay awake
For good gracious’ sake,
Naming stars to boot
To avoid mistake,
Jupiter and Mars,
Just like Pullman cars,
Was no vain pursuit.
Some have preached and taught
All there was to thought
Was to master Nature
By some nomenclature.
But if not a law
’Twas an end foregone
Anything we saw
And thus fastened on
With an epithet
We would see to yet — We would want to touch
Not to mention clutch.
Someone says the Lord
Says our reaching toward
Is its own reward.
One would like to know
Where he says it though.
Says our reaching toward
Is its own reward.
One would like to know
Where he says it though.
I don’t like that much.
Let’s see where we are.
What’s that sulphur blur
Off there in the fog?
Go consult the log.
It’s some kind of town,
But it’s not New York.
We’re not very far
Out from where we were.
It’s still Kitty Hawk.
What’s that sulphur blur
Off there in the fog?
Go consult the log.
It’s some kind of town,
But it’s not New York.
We’re not very far
Out from where we were.
It’s still Kitty Hawk.
We’d have got as far
Even at a walk.
Even at a walk.
Don’t you crash me down.
Though our kiting ships
Prove but flying chips
From the science shop
And when motors stop
They may have to drop
Short of anywhere,
Though our leap in air
Prove as vain a hop
As the hop from grass
Of a grasshopper,
Don’t discount our powers;
We have made a pass
At the infinite,
Made it as it were
Rationally ours,
To the most remote
Swirl of neon-lit
Particle afloat.
Ours was to reclaim
What had long been faced
As a fact of waste
And was waste in name.
Though our kiting ships
Prove but flying chips
From the science shop
And when motors stop
They may have to drop
Short of anywhere,
Though our leap in air
Prove as vain a hop
As the hop from grass
Of a grasshopper,
Don’t discount our powers;
We have made a pass
At the infinite,
Made it as it were
Rationally ours,
To the most remote
Swirl of neon-lit
Particle afloat.
Ours was to reclaim
What had long been faced
As a fact of waste
And was waste in name.
That’s how we became
Though an earth so small,
Easy to asperse
For its size and worse,
Justly known to fame
As the Capital
Of the universe?
We make no pretension
Of projecting ray
We can call our own
From this ball of stone,
None I don’t reject
As too new to mention.
All we do’s reflect
From our rocks, and yes‚
From our brains no less.
And the better part
Is the ray we dart
From the head and heart,
The mens animi.
Though an earth so small,
Easy to asperse
For its size and worse,
Justly known to fame
As the Capital
Of the universe?
We make no pretension
Of projecting ray
We can call our own
From this ball of stone,
None I don’t reject
As too new to mention.
All we do’s reflect
From our rocks, and yes‚
From our brains no less.
And the better part
Is the ray we dart
From the head and heart,
The mens animi.
Till we came to be
There was not a trace
Of a thinking race
Anywhere in space.
There was not a trace
Of a thinking race
Anywhere in space.
We know of no world
Being whirled and whirled
Round and round the rink
Of a single sun
(So as not to sink),
Not a single one
That has thought to think.
Being whirled and whirled
Round and round the rink
Of a single sun
(So as not to sink),
Not a single one
That has thought to think.
Pilot, though at best your
Flight is but a gesture,
And your rise and swoop
But a loop the loop
Lands on someone hard
In his own back yard
From no higher heaven
Than a bolt of levin,
I don’t say retard.
Keep on elevating.
But while meditating
What we can’t or can,
Let’s keep starring man
In the royal role.
It will not be his
Ever to create
One least germ or coal.
But let’s get this straight:
There creation is.
More or less control
Of it is the whole
Business of the soul.
Flight is but a gesture,
And your rise and swoop
But a loop the loop
Lands on someone hard
In his own back yard
From no higher heaven
Than a bolt of levin,
I don’t say retard.
Keep on elevating.
But while meditating
What we can’t or can,
Let’s keep starring man
In the royal role.
It will not be his
Ever to create
One least germ or coal.
But let’s get this straight:
There creation is.
More or less control
Of it is the whole
Business of the soul.
And this flight we wave
At the stars and moon
Means that we approve
Of things on the move‚
Be they stars or moon.
Ours is to behave
Like a kitchen spoon
Of a size Titanic
To keep all things stirred
In a blend mechanic,
Saying that’s the tune
That’s the pretty kettle!
Matter mustn’t curd
Separate and settle.
Motion is the word.
At the stars and moon
Means that we approve
Of things on the move‚
Be they stars or moon.
Ours is to behave
Like a kitchen spoon
Of a size Titanic
To keep all things stirred
In a blend mechanic,
Saying that’s the tune
That’s the pretty kettle!
Matter mustn’t curd
Separate and settle.
Motion is the word.
Nature’s never quite
Sure she hasn’t erred
In her vague design
Till on some fine night
We two come in flight
Like a king and queen
And by right divine
Waving scepter-baton
Undertake to tell her
What in being stellar
We’re supposed to mean.
Sure she hasn’t erred
In her vague design
Till on some fine night
We two come in flight
Like a king and queen
And by right divine
Waving scepter-baton
Undertake to tell her
What in being stellar
We’re supposed to mean.
God of the machine,
Peregrine machine,
Some consider Satan,
Unto you the thanks
For this token flight.
Thanks to you and thanks
To the brothers Wright
Once considered cranks
Like Darius Green
In their home town, Dayton.
Peregrine machine,
Some consider Satan,
Unto you the thanks
For this token flight.
Thanks to you and thanks
To the brothers Wright
Once considered cranks
Like Darius Green
In their home town, Dayton.
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