Treasure Island

Robert Frost

(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)

Fragmentary Blue


Why make so much of fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?

Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)--
Though some savants make earth include the sky;
And blue so far above us comes so high,
It only gives our wish for blue a whet.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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  • Stephen W (3/27/2013 9:29:00 PM)

    The poem should be interpreted literally. It is a comment on the odd quirks of the human psyche. Absolutely brilliant insight. (Report) Reply

  • Andrew Hoellering (6/23/2009 4:14:00 PM)

    The poem is platonic, with its suggestion that we we see on earth is a mere shadow or reflection of a transcendental reality beyond our reach. (Report) Reply

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