| Robert Frost (1874–1963). A Boy’s Will. 1915. |
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| 6. Stars |
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| HOW countlessly they congregate | |
| O’er our tumultuous snow, | |
| Which flows in shapes as tall as trees | |
| When wintry winds do blow!— | |
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| As if with keenness for our fate, | 5 |
| Our faltering few steps on | |
| To white rest, and a place of rest | |
| Invisible at dawn,— | |
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| And yet with neither love nor hate, | |
| Those stars like some snow-white | 10 |
| Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes | |
| Without the gift of sight. | |
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