Summary: The Need of Being Versed in Country Things<br> by Robert Frost<br> <br> The house had gone to bring again<br> To the midnight sky a sunset glow.<br> Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,<br> Like a pistil after the petals go.<br> <br> The barn opposed across the way,<br> That would have joined the house in flame<br> Had it been the will of the wind, was left<br> To bear forsaken the place’s name.<br> <br> No more it opened with all one end<br> For teams that came by the stony road<br> To drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs<br> And brush the mow with the summer load.<br> <br> The birds that came to it through the air<br> At broken windows flew out and in,<br> Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh<br> From too much dwelling on what has been.<br> <br> Yet for them the lilac renewed its leaf,<br> And the aged elm, though touched with fire;<br> And the dry pump flung up an awkward arm;<br> And the fence post carried a strand of wire.<br> <br> For them there was really nothing sad.<br> But though they rejoiced in the nest they kept,<br> One had to be versed in country things<br> Not to believe the phoebes wept.
