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A Lone Striker
by Robert Frost
© Dave MacKen
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Robert Frost Out Loud
Audio Recordings and Texts of Robert Frost Poetry
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The swinging mill bell changed its rate To tolling like the count of fate, And though at that the tardy ran, One failed to make the closing gate. There was a law of God or man That on the one who came too late The gate for half an hour be locked, His time be lost, his pittance docked. He stood rebuked and unemployed. The straining mill began to shake. The mill, though many-many-eyed, Had eyes inscrutably opaque; So that he couldn’t look inside To see if some forlorn machine Was standing idle for his sake. (He couldn’t hope its heart would break.) And yet he thought he saw the scene: The air was full of dust of wool. A thousand yarns were under pull, But pull so slow, with such a twist, All day from spool to lesser spool, It seldom overtaxed their strength; They safely grew in slender length. And if one broke by any chance, The spinner saw it at a glance. The spinner still was there to spin. That’s where the human still came in. Her deft hand showed with finger rings Among the harplike spread of strings. She caught the pieces end to end And, with a touch that never missed, Not so much tied as made them blend. Man’s ingenuity was good. He saw it plainly where he stood, Yet found it easy to resist. He knew another place, a wood, And in it, tall as trees, were cliffs; And if he stood on one of these, ‘Twould be among the tops of trees, Their upper branches round him wreathing, Their breathing mingled with his breathing. If---if he stood! Enough of ifs! He knew a path that wanted walking; He knew a spring that wanted drinking; A thought that wanted further thinking; A love that wanted re-renewing. Nor was this just a way of talking To save him the expense of doing. With him it boded action, deed. The factory was very fine; He wished it all the modern speed. Yet, after all, ‘twas not divine, That is to say, ‘twas not a church. He never would assume that he’d Be any institution’s need. But he said then and still would say, If there should ever come a day When industry seemed like to die Because he left it in the lurch, Or even merely seemed to pine For want of his approval, why, Come get him---they knew where to search.
