Marilyn,
I know what you mean about "Birches" but it seems a pity to talk about a subject like this and only quote that poem by Frost. Here are a few other endings from poems by him (and I see now that Oliver did mention "Stopping by Woods"):
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.
With the slow smokeless burning of decay
I might have, but it doesn’t seem as if.
Nothing gold can stay.
The aim was song – the wind could see.
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.
As if the earth in one unlooked-for favor
Had made them certain earth returned their love.
One had to be versed in country things
Not to believe the phoebes wept.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.
So love will take between the hands a face…
What but design of darkness to appall? –
If design govern in a thing so small.
Better to go down dignified
With boughten friendship at your side
Than none at all. Provide, provide!
All revelation has been ours.
And to do that to birds was why she came.
Drink and be whole again beyond confusion.
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