Fearful
Desert Places
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it–it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less–
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars–on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.
Robert Frost
‘Desert Places’ was composed by Robert Frost (1874-1963) in 1933, while he was suffering a series of illnesses and struggling with bouts of depression. Frost claims that he wrote the poem straight off ‘without fumbling a sentence’, creating a lasting impression of spiritual bleakness.