Response to Robert Frost's "Birches"

I'm going to skip to the point on this one--Frost's "Birches" hits on a lot of heart here, in a lot of ways. After some poignant, moving, and crisp as ice descriptions of birches on an frozen scape, and images of a boy using them to swing down on, arching until they bring him back safely back to the ground, Frost does something different--he hits squarely on some heart, on some real sight on life. Roughly two thirds in he changes prospective, and falls into first-person, and Frosts starts,

"So was I once myself a swinger of birches.

And so I dream of going back to be.

It's when I'm weary of considerations,

And life is too much like a pathless wood

Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs

Broken across it, and one eye is weeping

From a twig's having lashed across it open."

For seven lines, Frosts says a lot--a whole of a hell of a lot. With, "So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be." Frost simply begins, establishes himself as the swinger, but what he says after that is definitely worth looking at. He's "weary of considerations" and life is "too much like a pathless wood," just listen to that, "life is too much like a pathless wood" In one line he captures an entire outlook and an entire reality--he captures truth, because life is considerations, to some degree, which can make it feel way to much like being lost alone, pathless among birches.

While, no doubt, it's written with an over the top riff, and reads painfully clearly without mistake that you are reading poetry, sometimes I think that's called for, because how else can you write "life is too much like a pathless wood, where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs broken across it, and one eye is weeping from a twig's having lashed across it open." with the same heart and soul of experience and with the same poetry without writing exactly that?