Poem Robert Frost

Were I In Trouble

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Where I could think of no thoroughfare,

Away on the mountain up far too high,

A blinding headlight shifted glare

And began to bounce down a granite stair

Like a star fresh fallen out of the sky

And I away in my opposite wood

Am touched by that unintimate light
And made feel less alone than I rightly should,

For traveler there could do me no good
Were I in trouble with night tonight.

Bravado
The Night Light

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