Reluctance

The stanzas below are taken from "Reluctance" by Robert Frost:

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question "Whither?"

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

-ooo-

i know that it's spring outside
and flowers are in bloom. but last night,
my heart has somehow withered...