Robert Frost

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

Riders - Poem by Robert Frost

The surest thing there is is we are riders,
And though none too successful at it, guiders,
Through everything presented, land and tide
And now the very air, of what we ride.

What is this talked-of mystery of birth
But being mounted bareback on the earth?
We can just see the infant up astride,
His small fist buried in the bushy hide.

There is our wildest mount- a headless horse.
But though it runs unbridled off its course,
And all our blandishments would seem defied,
We have ideas yet that we haven't tried.


Comments about Riders by Robert Frost

  • (5/3/2018 4:56:00 PM)


    EAT MY! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! (Report) Reply

    (5/4/2018 12:59:00 PM)

    Ethi sala chhodi Pua, tumara kana Kama kire, jaunu bhika magibu ki daudidabu, ethi kahinki marei jauchi, sala chhindala, Marunu bhabi chod.

    1 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • Subhas Chandra Chakra (10/5/2017 1:55:00 PM)


    What is this talked-of mystery of birth
    But being mounted bareback on the earth?
    Nice poem.
    (Report) Reply

    (5/4/2018 12:38:00 PM)

    sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo true luv it love the story

Read all 4 comments »



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Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 10, 2016



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