Robert Frost

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

Comments about Robert Frost

  • Aysegul Avcu (2/25/2015 6:47:00 AM)

    Nice

    89 person liked.
    96 person did not like.
  • Zach Showgren Zach Showgren (12/9/2014 4:18:00 PM)

    I love robert frost! ! ! ! ! ! ! a true inspiration

  • Wiley Wildcard Wiley Wildcard (10/30/2014 3:35:00 PM)

    I guess you can say that he is my inspiration to write.

  • Srimayee Ganguly Srimayee Ganguly (10/7/2014 12:42:00 PM)

    whenever I'm exhausted or bored I just grab a copy of his poems that keeps me engrossed in his enchanted world -which is lovely, dark and deep

  • Jennifer Vail (9/22/2014 2:36:00 PM)

    i have a paper due on this author and william williams a compare and contrast paper and i am having a hard time doing so any ideas on this

  • Deniz Atay Deniz Atay (8/29/2014 2:49:00 PM)

    it is impossible not to see the touch and vivid reflection of life in his poetry.. one of the greatest.

  • Zahidah Rabaab (8/2/2014 11:54:00 PM)

    No doubt, from Nature did Robert Frost get his ideas for his poems.

  • S B (5/6/2014 4:41:00 PM)

    one of his most popular and amazing poems. Very meaningful!

  • S B (5/5/2014 5:38:00 PM)

    amazing poems. one of my favorite authors

  • Prisca Mc (3/25/2014 8:35:00 PM)

    That poem you asked for is The Impulse, I believe.

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

After Apple Picking

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight

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