Robert Frost

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

Comments about Robert Frost

  • Ferg Fred Ferg Fred (12/2/2016 6:45:00 AM)

    this is amazing his work is so good
    i agree

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  • Earnest Gatuma Earnest Gatuma (11/2/2016 12:56:00 PM)

    I love this guy's poems.....so unique and original

  • Kristina Lu (9/22/2016 9:43:00 PM)

    I like it that is very meaningful.

  • Tapan M. Saren Tapan M. Saren (8/18/2016 1:06:00 AM)

    I love you sir.. You're my all time best poet.

  • Halin Roche (4/26/2016 10:20:00 AM)

    Great poet...

  • Josh Hartshorne (3/10/2016 2:05:00 PM)

    I have problems with expressing my feelings

  • Kelley Tom (1/26/2016 5:13:00 PM)

    Why is he #2? He should be #1

  • Kelley Tom (1/26/2016 5:11:00 PM)

    Why is he #2? He's #1

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (1/21/2016 6:57:00 AM)

    I like almost all his poems, but especially love 'Dust of Snow' - its last 2 lines are wonderful..

    The way a crow
    Shook down on me
    The dust of snow
    From a hemlock tree
    Has given my heart
    A change of mood
    And saved some part
    Of a day I had rued.


    Robert Frost, 'Dust of Snow' (1923)

  • Titto Mutunguti Titto Mutunguti (10/16/2015 3:58:00 PM)

    Great poem...well expressed

Best Poem of Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come ...

Read the full of The Road Not Taken

After Apple Picking

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight

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