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.
121. Christmas Trees 3/29/2010
122. Carpe Diem 3/29/2010
123. Canis Major 3/29/2010
124. But Outer Space 1/3/2003
125. Bond And Free 1/13/2003
126. Blue-Butterfly Day 12/12/2014
127. Blueberries 3/29/2010
128. Birches 1/3/2003
129. Bereft 1/3/2003
130. Asking For Roses 1/3/2003
131. An Old Man's Winter Night 1/3/2003
132. After Apple Picking 1/3/2003
133. Acquainted With The Night 1/3/2003
134. A Time To Talk 1/3/2003
135. A Star In A Stoneboat 1/15/2015
136. A Soldier 1/13/2003
137. A Servant To Servants 1/13/2003
138. A Question 1/3/2003
139. A Prayer In Spring 1/3/2003
140. A Patch Of Old Snow 1/3/2003
141. A Minor Bird 1/13/2003
142. A Line-Storm Song 1/3/2003
143. A Late Walk 1/3/2003
144. A Girl's Garden 2/3/2015
145. A Dream Pang 1/3/2003
146. A Considerable Speck 1/3/2003
147. A Cliff Dwelling 1/3/2003
148. A Brook In The City 1/13/2003
149. A Boundless Moment 1/13/2003
150. "In White": Frost's Early Version Of Design 1/13/2003
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

Out, Out

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.

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