When one thinks about love poems–or sensual, sexual poems–that old New England apple picker, Robert Frost, isn’t usually the first voice that comes to mind. Or the second. Or anywhere near the top. But it’s cold in New Hampshire–those winters are long, making spring a joyful time, and sometimes a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, even if what he’s got to do is write a sonnet.
PUTTING IN THE SEED by Robert Frost
You come to fetch me from my work to-night
When supper’s on the table, and we’ll see
If I can leave off burying the white
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree
(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;)
And go along with you ere you lose sight
Of what you came for and become like me,
Slave to a springtime passion for the earth.
How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed
On through the watching for that early birth
When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,
The sturdy seedling with arched body comes
Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.