By Robert Frost
O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud—
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.
Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says, ‘I burn.’
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats’ Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.
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Quickie, I got back here late and am buried in holiday-week email and stuff but I had a lovely afternoon with family -- we picked up Maddy from the mall, then drove with her to BWI to get her sister Noelle from the airport after flying from L.A., then we went to my parents' where we met Adam and Katherine and all had dinner and birthday cake for Maddy, who will be 21 in a couple of days! Afterward, we drove Maddy home, brought Noelle back here, and now I am trying to get organized for tomorrow when we will take them both to see their grandparents in Pennsylvania, so more tomorrow! Maddy hates being in photos, so she took them of all of us instead and included her arm to prove she was there:
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