Robert Frost Song Poems

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,
The road is forlorn all day,
Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,
And the hoof-prints vanish away.
...

He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
...

Before man to blow to right
The wind once blew itself untaught,
And did its loudest day and night
In any rough place where it caught.
...