The Tuft of Flowers

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been, - alone,

“As all must be,” I said within my heart,
“Whether they work together or apart.”

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

And leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

“Men work together,” I told him from the heart,
“Whether they work together or apart.”

Robert FROST, A Boy’s Will

La Touffe de fleurs (fragment)

Un jour je suis allé retourner l’herbe
Après que quelqu’un l’eut fauchée
Toute couverte de rosée
Avant le lever du soleil.
La rosée qui rendait sa lame si tranchante
S’était évaporée
Avant que je n’arrive
Devant ce paysage nivelé.
Je le cherchai des yeux derrière un îlot d’arbres,
Et je tendis l’oreille
Pour entendre le crissement
De sa pierre à affûter dans le vent.
Mais, une fois toute l’herbe fauchée,
Il s’en était allé de son côté,
Et j’allais être
Comme lui—même – seul.
Mais, à l’instant précis où je disais cela,
Voici que, rapide, passa tout près de moi,
Sur des ailes silencieuses,
Un papillon éberlué,
Cherchant parmi des souvenirs
Que la nuit avait fait pâlir
Quelque fleur accueillante,
Qui avait fait sa joie hier.
Je l’observai une fois qui tournait en rond
Autour du même endroit,
Comme s’il y avait eu là
Quelque fleur flétrie couchée sur le sol.
Puis il s’envola aussi loin
Que le regard pouvait le suivre,
Puis, d’une aile tremblante,
Il s’en revint vers moi.