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Question
Thinking about the Text
Answer these question.
A mystery I propose to explain.” What is the mystery the speaker proposes to explain?
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Solution
The mystery that Gerrard proposed to explain was the story he made up to dodge the intruder and save his own life. The story was that Gerrard himself was a criminal like the intruder. He asked the intruder why else would he not meet any trades people and be a bit of a mystery man here today and gone tomorrow. The game was up as things had suddenly gone wrong for him. He had committed a murder and got away. Unfortunately, one of his men had been arrested and certain things were found which his men should have burnt. He said that he was expecting some trouble that night and therefore, his bag was packed and he was ready to escape.
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About the Poet
Robert Frost (1874-1963) was born in San Franscisco, Frost spent most of his adult
life in rural New England and his laconic language and emphasis on individualism in
his poetry reflect this region. He attended Dartmouth and Harvard but never earned a
degree. As a young man with a growing family he attempted to write poetry while
working on a farm and teaching in a school. American editors rejected his submitted
poems. With considerable pluck Frost moved his family to England in 1912 and the
following year, a London publisher brought out his first book. After publishing a
second book, Frost returned to America determined to win a reputation in his own
country, which he gradually achieved. He became one of the country's best-loved
poets. Unlike his contemporaries, Frost chose not to experiment with the new verse
forms but to employ traditional patterns, or as he said, he chose "the old-fashioned
way to be new." Despite the surface cheerfulness and descriptive accuracy of his
poems, he often presents a dark, sober vision of life, and there is a defined thoughtful
quality to his work which makes it unique.
The black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight.
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.
The last man of this forlorn group
Did nought except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
Their logs held tight in death's still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without
They died from the cold within.
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I wandered lonely as a Cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and Hills,
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A host, of golden Daffodils;
Beside the Lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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Its a cruel thing to leave her so.”
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For a little while the man stood with a puzzled air; then he turned back, and went into the hovel again. Maggie with painful effort, had raised herself to an upright position and was sitting on the bed, straining her eyes upon the door out of which all had just departed, A vague terror had come into her thin white face.
“O, Mr. Thompson!” she cried out, catching her suspended breath, “don’t leave me here all alone!” ,
Though rough in exterior, Joe Thompson, the wheelwright, had a heart, and it was very tender in some places. He liked children, and was pleased to have them come to his shop, where sleds and wagons were made or mended for the village lads without a draft on their hoarded sixpences.
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