Nothing Gold Can Stay
Robert Frost’s eight-line miniature is usually read as a soft meditation on how beautiful things fade. But its logic is stranger and bleaker: nature’s first green is already gold — the peak is the very first instant, so everything after the beginning is loss. In eight tiny lines Frost climbs from a single budding leaf to the fall of Eden to every passing dawn to an absolute law, delivered with a calm that offers almost no consolation at all.