The Pasture
By Robert Frost （1874-1963）I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother.
It's so young, It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
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