by Marshall Jamison

At about ten years of age or so, I heard Robert Frost
recite his poetry aloud
for what, it seemed to me to be a most attentive
and respectful crowd
in Harvard Yard, a meeting place of those who
search for knowledge,
the brick-lined mecca that surrounds much of
Harvard College.
He read quickly without emphasis that might
have been revealing
and his words belied emotion which I thought
he must be feeling.

Continue reading → One Day in Harvard Yard