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.
41. The Door In The Dark 1/27/2015
42. Place For A Third 2/2/2015
43. A Peck of Gold 2/14/2016
44. Acceptance 3/10/2016
45. A Star In A Stoneboat 1/15/2015
46. Lodged 11/21/2014
47. The Onset 1/8/2015
48. The Freedom Of The Moon 2/2/2015
49. The Peaceful Shepherd 12/4/2014
50. Blue-Butterfly Day 12/12/2014
51. A Girl's Garden 2/3/2015
52. The Master Speed 9/14/2013
53. In Equal Sacrifice 3/29/2010
54. An Encounter 3/11/2016
55. The Code—heroics 3/29/2010
56. The Axe-Helve 3/29/2010
57. The Black Cottage 3/29/2010
58. Iris By Night 3/30/2010
59. In A Vale 3/29/2010
60. The Oft-Repeated Dream 3/30/2010
61. Iota Subscript 3/30/2010
62. The Demiurge's Laugh 1/3/2003
63. The Bonfire 3/29/2010
64. What Fifty Said.. 3/29/2010
65. The Impulse 3/29/2010
66. The Hill Wife 1/3/2003
67. The Fear 3/29/2010
68. Plowmen 1/13/2003
69. Waiting -- Afield At Dusk 3/29/2010
70. The Objection To Being Stepped On 3/29/2010
71. Departmental 3/29/2010
72. Unharvested 3/8/2011
73. The Mountain 3/29/2010
74. Putting In The Seed 1/13/2003
75. Range-Finding 1/3/2003
76. One Step Backward Taken 1/3/2003
77. The Line-Gang 1/13/2003
78. The Need Of Being Versed In Country Things 1/3/2003
79. Spoils Of The Dead 3/29/2010
80. In White 1/1/2004
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

Come In

As I came to the edge of the woods,
Thrush music -- hark!
Now if it was dusk outside,
Inside it was dark.

Too dark in the woods for a bird
By sleight of wing
To better its perch for the night,
Though it still could sing.

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