Robert Frost is in paradoxical mood as he moves from feeling too much about the sweetness of things to craving “the stain of tears.”  

Perhaps he is reflecting on the saddening of emotions and expectations with experience.

     TO  EARTHWARD

Love at the lips was touch

As sweet as I could bear;

And once that seemed too much;

I lived on air

~

That crossed me from sweet things,

The flow of – was it musk

From hidden grapevine springs

Downhill at dusk?

~

I had the swirl and ache

From sprays of honeysuckle

That when they’re gathered shake

Dew on the knuckle.

~

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.

~

When stiff and sore and scarred

I take away my hand

From leaning on it hard

In grass and sand,

~

The hurt is not enough:

I long for weight and strength

To feel the earth as rough

To all my length.