[NewJerseyJoe]

I like this thread! I have long considered myself a "student" of Frost -- have read all his works and visited the places where he lived and worked. I like all of the works mentioned so far ... but my favorite is --

My November Guest

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

[Mamzelle]

Oh, my. If I read that one, I’d forgotten it. NO-vember. No birds, no leaves, no fruit. No-veber.

[Mamzelle]

Oh, my. If I read that one, I’d forgotten it. NO-vember. No birds, no leaves, no fruit. No-veber.

[maxwellsmart_agent]

Can you explain it to me?
I understand every Frost poem except this one.
I have no idea who My Sorrow is.