From his desire, we realised how his boyhood experience had been in great affinity with swinging on birches in a pastoral setting. But through the aid of flashback, the poet speaker hints on the position in ‘I should prefer to have some boy bend them/As he went out and in to fetch the cows’. He says ‘You may see their trunks arching in the woods/Years afterwards,’ which explains how the negligence of the society has promoted battering of nature in form of trees. He reveals how snows have forcefully bent the birches into sharps that they find it difficult to ‘right themselves’. Due to the change brought in by technology and science, the poet speaker observes that the birches have been left alone for ice storms to deal with. What had been the workings of some boys in a pleasurable manner has been left for snow rain to subdue. From his intuition, he had imagined that the bend is as a result of ‘some boy’s been swinging them.’ But on a second note, he sees that this kind of bend is different in ‘But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay/As ice-storm do.’ He recognises that the ‘birches bend to left and right/Across the lines of straighter darker trees’. The poem, “Birches” by Frost is a dramatic monologue that highlights the poet persona’s observation of the trees, birches. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. That would be good both going and coming back. Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,īut dipped its top and set me down again. I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.Īnd climb black branches up a snow-white trunk ![]() Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebsįrom a twig’s having lashed across it open.Īnd half grant what I wish and snatch me away So was I once myself a swinger of birches.Īnd life is too much like a pathless wood Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, With the same pains you use to fill a cup To learn about not launching out too soonĬlear to the ground. Whose only play was what he found himself,Īnd not one but hung limp, not one was leftįor him to conquer. Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, I should prefer to have some boy bend them With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hairīefore them over their heads to dry in the sun.īut I was going to say when Truth broke in Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground You may see their trunks arching in the woods ![]() So low for long, they never right themselves: ![]() They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,Īnd they seem not to break though once they are bowed ![]() You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust. Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells Often you must have seen themĪs the breeze rises, and turn many-coloredĪs the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.īut swinging doesn’t bend them down to stayĪs ice-storms do. When I see birches bend to left and rightĪcross the lines of straighter darker trees,
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