Lyric Poem · Nature
The Pasture
by Robert Frost · 1914
I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young.
It totters when she licks it with her tongue,
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
This poem is in the public domain.
“The Pasture” by Robert Frost — quilloak.com/poems/the-pasture
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