28 Jul: "To Earthward" by Robert Frost

Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air 

That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of—was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Downhill at dusk? 

I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they’re gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle. 

I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung. 

Now no joy but lacks salt,
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain 

Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove. 

When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand, 

The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.