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

Out, Out

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.

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