A Favorite Poem

Hyla Brook

By Robert Frost

By June our brook's run out of song and speed

Sought for much after that, it will be found

Either to have gone groping underground

(And taken with it all the Hyla breed

That shouted in the mist amonth ago,

Like ghost of sleigh bells in a ghost of snow)-

Or flourished and come up in jewelweed,

Weak foliage that is blown upon and bent

Even against the way its waters went.

Its bed is left a faded paper sheet

Of dead leaves stuck together by the heat-

A brook to none but who remember long.

This as it will be seen other far

Than with brooks taken otherwise in song.

We love the things we love for what they are.

I came across this poem long ago when I was about 12 years old, and since then it has been a favorite. One of America's most beloved poets, Robert Frost wrote many poems, some of which are much more familiar. "Hyla Brook" struck a cord with me, mostly because it reminds me of the creek I visited so often in my childhood...a very special place that remains a part of me in cherished memories.