Robert Frost

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

Comments about Robert Frost

Enter the verification code :

  • Rookie David Micheal Ecklund (3/18/2013 5:32:00 PM)

    Giggity giggity goo!

    131 person liked.
    192 person did not like.
  • Rookie Amanda Daniel (3/18/2013 1:21:00 PM)

    am Amanda Daniel i like your profile,
    i am interested in you please contact me
    to my email.(amandadaniel2013@yahoo.com)
    so that i can tell you all about me thank you.
    don't contact me on this site because i don't
    use to be online every day.

  • Rookie Abraham Jeong (3/6/2013 8:29:00 PM)

    dont know about him very much

  • Rookie Lisa Smith (2/2/2013 11:59:00 PM)

    Robert Frost is a poet with something for everyone. He writes rhymed poetry as if it were natural, easy dialogue. He appeals to the best instincts of anyone and seems constantly to be climbing toward the infinite. Many of his poems are good enough to give me shivers. He will never become obsolete.

  • Rookie Bikash Kc (1/15/2013 10:57:00 PM)

    i have not read all poems of Frost but what i read are all impressive and real...

  • Rookie Ajaydev Vijayakumar (12/2/2012 8:42:00 AM)

    among a handful of creative poets Robert Frost poems are truly magnificent....

  • Rookie Vincent Ibekwe (11/28/2012 11:38:00 PM)

    Woods are lovely dark and deep
    But I have promises to keep...
    I love visual imagery. It's grand and evocative

  • Rookie Aideen Buckley (10/30/2012 3:34:00 PM)

    i think frost is a really good poet and all is poems r the best

  • Rookie Pckdragon Anonymous (10/20/2012 8:31:00 PM)

    496 people dislike Robert Frost : (

  • Rookie Charles Vaughn (9/3/2012 9:44:00 PM)

    Does anyone here wonder why Frost never won the Nobel Prize for literature? Frost's poetry is basically conservative (lower case c) - poetry that touches the basic and enduring nature of we humans.

The Onset

ALWAYS the same, when on a fated night
At last the gathered snow lets down as white
As may be in dark woods, and with a song
It shall not make again all winter long
Of hissing on the yet uncovered ground,
I almost stumble looking up and round,
As one who overtaken by the end
Gives up his errand, and lets death descend
Upon him where he is, with nothing done

[Hata Bildir]