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.
81. In Neglect 1/13/2003
82. Hannibal 1/13/2003
83. The Need Of Being Versed In Country Things 1/3/2003
84. The Exposed Nest 1/13/2003
85. Spoils Of The Dead 3/29/2010
86. Rose Pogonias 1/13/2003
87. Meeting And Passing 1/13/2003
88. The Vanishing Red 1/13/2003
89. For Once, Then, Something 1/3/2003
90. Not To Keep 1/3/2003
91. The Cow In Apple-Time 1/13/2003
92. In A Poem 1/20/2003
93. Hyla Brook 1/13/2003
94. Quandary 4/24/2003
95. The Bear 1/13/2003
96. The Oven Bird 1/3/2003
97. Storm Fear 3/30/2010
98. The Flower Boat 1/13/2003
99. To E.T. 1/3/2003
100. They Were Welcome To Their Belief 1/3/2003
101. The Star Splitter 1/3/2003
102. The Death Of The Hired Man 1/3/2003
103. The Vantage Point 1/13/2003
104. The Trial By Existence 1/13/2003
105. Christmas Trees 3/29/2010
106. In Hardwood Groves 1/13/2003
107. On Looking Up By Chance At The Constellations 1/3/2003
108. In A Disused Graveyard 1/3/2003
109. Canis Major 3/29/2010
110. Blueberries 3/29/2010
111. To Earthward 1/3/2003
112. Love And A Question 1/13/2003
113. The Wood-Pile 1/3/2003
114. The Span Of Life 1/13/2003
115. Reluctance 1/13/2003
116. Wind And Window Flower 3/29/2010
117. The Lockless Door 1/3/2003
118. My November Guest 1/3/2003
119. The Armful 1/13/2003
120. My Butterfly 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

A Time To Talk

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall

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