And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: “Stay where you are until our backs are turned!” We wear our fingers rough with handling them. To each the boulders that have fallen to each. I let my neighbor know beyond the hill And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
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