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.
121. Leaves Compared With Flowers 1/3/2003
122. The Sound Of Trees 1/3/2003
123. My Butterfly 1/13/2003
124. Evening In A Sugar Orchard 1/13/2003
125. Spring Pools 1/3/2003
126. Two Tramps In Mud Time 1/3/2003
127. But Outer Space 1/3/2003
128. Provide, Provide 1/3/2003
129. Now Close The Windows 1/13/2003
130. Two Look At Two 1/3/2003
131. My November Guest 1/3/2003
132. The Telephone 1/13/2003
133. Good-Bye, And Keep Cold 1/3/2003
134. Into My Own 1/13/2003
135. Mowing 1/13/2003
136. Flower-Gathering 1/13/2003
137. The Soldier 1/3/2003
138. Going For Water 1/13/2003
139. God's Garden 3/29/2010
140. Revelation 1/3/2003
141. Bond And Free 1/13/2003
142. Once By The Pacific 1/3/2003
143. The Pasture 1/3/2003
144. Home Burial 1/13/2003
145. The Tuft Of Flowers 1/3/2003
146. Neither Out Far Nor In Deep 1/3/2003
147. The Aim Was Song 1/3/2003
148. Carpe Diem 3/29/2010
149. The Gift Outright 1/3/2003
150. Come In 1/3/2003
151. Never Again Would Bird's Song Be The Same 1/3/2003
152. Stars 1/3/2003
153. Tree At My Window 1/3/2003
154. October 1/13/2003
155. Out, Out 1/3/2003
156. Gathering Leaves 1/13/2003
157. Ghost House 1/13/2003
158. "In White": Frost's Early Version Of Design 1/13/2003
159. Design 1/3/2003
160. Dust Of Snow 1/3/2003
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

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

[Report Error]