Robert Frost

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

Robert Frost Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
1. The Generations of Men -new- 5/16/2015
2. The Birthplace -new- 5/14/2015
3. Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter 5/6/2015
4. In The Home Stretch 1/9/2015
5. The Most Of It 12/17/2014
6. Place For A Third 2/2/2015
7. Paul's Wife 2/3/2015
8. A Star In A Stoneboat 1/15/2015
9. The Door In The Dark 1/27/2015
10. Lodged 11/21/2014
11. The Onset 1/8/2015
12. The Freedom Of The Moon 2/2/2015
13. The Peaceful Shepherd 12/4/2014
14. A Girl's Garden 2/3/2015
15. Blue-Butterfly Day 12/12/2014
16. The Master Speed 9/14/2013
17. In Equal Sacrifice 3/29/2010
18. The Code—heroics 3/29/2010
19. The Axe-Helve 3/29/2010
20. The Black Cottage 3/29/2010
21. Iota Subscript 3/30/2010
22. The Bonfire 3/29/2010
23. Unharvested 3/8/2011
24. Waiting -- Afield At Dusk 3/29/2010
25. What Fifty Said.. 3/29/2010
26. The Demiurge's Laugh 1/3/2003
27. In A Vale 3/29/2010
28. Iris By Night 3/30/2010
29. The Oft-Repeated Dream 3/30/2010
30. The Fear 3/29/2010
31. The Objection To Being Stepped On 3/29/2010
32. Departmental 3/29/2010
33. The Mountain 3/29/2010
34. The Impulse 3/29/2010
35. Range-Finding 1/3/2003
36. The Line-Gang 1/13/2003
37. Plowmen 1/13/2003
38. One Step Backward Taken 1/3/2003
39. The Gum-Gatherer 1/13/2003
40. The Need Of Being Versed In Country Things 1/3/2003
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

The Birthplace

Here further up the mountain slope
Than there was every any hope,
My father built, enclosed a spring,
Strung chains of wall round everything,
Subdued the growth of earth to grass,
And brought our various lives to pass.
A dozen girls and boys we were.
The mountain seemed to like the stir,
And made of us a little while-

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