Normale Version: Robert Frost
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Robert Frost

The little plot I claim for my new share,
May be stony, harsh and rough with rock--
A spot, that idle men are wont to mock
And curse as never worth a wise man's care.
I leave to them the right to choose and dare.
I never gauge my labor by the clock.
The Fall may never bring my grain to shock,
Yet on my hearth, my fire, my fruit I share.
The rough endurance of an earlier day
Survives and shapes the will to fit the need,
And though the ancient quarrel can smart and goad,
The back bends to the task, the furrowed way.
Man dream that Mother Earth will bless the load;
His hope vaults high to ride the harvest load.