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

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.

Роберт Фрост, Роберт Фрост. Стихи