I had Robert Frost open with a library receipt nearby and the room getting a little darker.

The poem did not explain itself all at once. The better lines rarely do. They stay put while the reader shifts around in the chair.

I like that about old poems. They are patient without being soft. They do not flatter the day, but they keep it from becoming only errands.

I closed the book when the light got thin. One line stayed with me long enough to change how I carried the next small chore.