Robert Frost establishes the futility of being despite holding beauty through the usage of symbols. Although the birch tree is beautiful. The color white symbolizes beauty and pureness. The color white symbolizes non merely beauty.
When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay As ice-storms do.
Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust— Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows— Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer.
He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return.
Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. Summary[ edit ] When the speaker the poet himself sees a row of bent birches in contrast to straight trees, he likes to think that some boy has been swinging them.
He then realizes that it was not a boy, rather the ice storms that had bent the birches.
On a winter morning, freezing rain covers the branches with ice, which then cracks and falls to the snow-covered ground. The sunlight refracts on the ice crystals, making a brilliant display. When the truth strikes the speaker, he still prefers his imagination of a boy swinging and bending the birches.
The speaker says he also was a swinger of birches when he was a boy and wishes to be so now. When he becomes weary of this world, and life becomes confused, he would like to go toward heaven by climbing a birch tree and then coming back again, because earth is the right place for love.
In writing this poem, Frost was inspired by his childhood experience with swinging on birches, which was a popular game for children in rural areas of New England during the time. Because he is an adult, he is unable to leave his responsibilities behind and climb toward heaven until he can start fresh on the earth.read poems by this poet.
Robert Frost was born on March 26, , in San Francisco, where his father, William Prescott Frost Jr., and his mother, Isabelle Moodie, had .
Shop Premier Prints at the Amazon Arts, Crafts & Sewing store. Free Shipping on eligible items. Save on everyday low prices.5/5(2). The title is “Birches,” but the subject is birch “swinging.” And the theme of poem seems to be, more generally and more deeply, this motion of swinging.
The force behind it comes from contrary pulls—truth and imagination, earth and heaven, concrete and spirit, control and abandon, flight and return. Robert Frost was born in San Francisco, but his family moved to Lawrence, Massachusetts, in following his father’s death.
The move was actually a return, for Frost’s ancestors were originally New Englanders, and Frost became famous for his poetry’s engagement with New England locales. Birches by Robert Frost: About the poem Robert Frost’s icy ‘Birches’ is more than just the fond ramblings of a nature lover.
It is also a personal quest to achieve balance between different worlds. Frost expresses this idea using birch trees as an extended metaphor and the recurring motif of a lively lad climbing and swinging down on them.
read poems by this poet. Robert Frost was born on March 26, , in San Francisco, where his father, William Prescott Frost Jr., and his mother, Isabelle Moodie, had moved from Pennsylvania shortly after marrying.