{"id":3008,"date":"2020-11-05T09:24:33","date_gmt":"2020-11-05T14:24:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/?p=3008"},"modified":"2020-11-05T09:24:44","modified_gmt":"2020-11-05T14:24:44","slug":"a-poem-for-a-thursday-105","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2020\/11\/05\/a-poem-for-a-thursday-105\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #105"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/11\/lukasz-lada-vLbtQEx64RU-unsplash-1024x675.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-3009\"\/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:60px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Robert Frost is the poet I turn to when I want to read a poem about the nature outside my door. His words bring the New England landscape to life. Frost said  a poem is &#8220;never a put-up job&#8230; It begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a loneliness. It is never a thought to begin with. It is at its best when it is a tantalizing vagueness.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:55px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\"><em>My sorrow, when she's here with me,<\/em>\n     <em>Thinks these dark days of autumn rain<\/em>\n<em>Are beautiful as days can be;<\/em>\n<em>She loves the bare, the withered tree;\nShe walks the sodden pasture lane.\n\nHer pleasure will not let me stay.\n     She talks and I am fain to list:\nShe's glad the birds are gone away,\nShe's glad her simple worsted grey\n     Is silver now with clinging mist.\n\nThe desolate, deserted trees,\n     The faded earth, the heavy sky,\nThe beauties she so truly sees,\nShe thinks I have no eye for these,\n     And vexes me for reason why.\n\nNot yesterday I learned to know\n     The love of bare November days\nBefore the coming of the snow,\nBut it were vain to tell her so,\n     And they are better for her praise.<\/em>\n\n<em>My November Guest<\/em>\nRobert Frost<\/pre>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">     <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Robert Frost is the poet I turn to when I want to read a poem about the nature outside my door. His words bring the New England landscape to life. Frost said a poem is &#8220;never a put-up job&#8230; It begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a loneliness. It is never a thought to begin with. It is at its best when it is a tantalizing vagueness.&#8221; My sorrow, when she&#8217;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&#8217;s glad the birds are gone away, She&#8217;s glad her simple worsted grey 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. My November Guest Robert Frost<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3009,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3008","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poem-for-a-thursday"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3008","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3008"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3008\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3015,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3008\/revisions\/3015"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3009"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3008"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3008"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3008"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}