My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The… — Robert Frost

Love at the lips was touch

As sweet as I could bear;

And once that seemed too much;

I lived on air

We've looked and looked, but after all where are we?

Do we know any better where we are,

And how it stands between the night tonight

And a man with a smoky lantern chimney?

How different from the way it ever stood?

The birds that came to it through the air

At broken windows flew out and in,

Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh

From too much dwelling on what has been.