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.
161. Fireflies In The Garden 1/3/2003
162. Devotion 1/3/2003
163. A Dream Pang 1/3/2003
164. Dust Of Snow 1/3/2003
165. The Silken Tent 1/3/2003
166. The Secret Sits 1/3/2003
167. Desert Places 1/3/2003
168. A Line-Storm Song 1/3/2003
169. Bereft 1/3/2003
170. A Cliff Dwelling 1/3/2003
171. An Old Man's Winter Night 1/3/2003
172. A Patch Of Old Snow 1/3/2003
173. Mending Wall 1/3/2003
174. A Considerable Speck 1/3/2003
175. A Boundless Moment 1/13/2003
176. The Rose Family 1/3/2003
177. After Apple Picking 1/3/2003
178. A Brook In The City 1/13/2003
179. Birches 1/3/2003
180. Asking For Roses 1/3/2003
181. A Time To Talk 1/3/2003
182. A Prayer In Spring 1/3/2003
183. A Soldier 1/13/2003
184. A Minor Bird 1/13/2003
185. A Question 1/3/2003
186. A Late Walk 1/3/2003
187. Acquainted With The Night 1/3/2003
188. Nothing Gold Can Stay 1/3/2003
189. Fire And Ice 1/3/2003
190. Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening 1/3/2003
191. The Road Not Taken 1/3/2003

Comments about Robert Frost

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  • Sam Salvador (1/15/2014 10:33:00 AM)

    Billy Joel is right Robert Frost Is a Way better poet.

  • Billy Joel Billy Joel (12/17/2013 7:54:00 AM)

    better than maya angelou i believe

  • Billy Joel Billy Joel (12/17/2013 7:40:00 AM)

    The Road not taken is way better than that other poem by maya angelou

  • Phil Collins Phil Collins (12/17/2013 7:33:00 AM)

    wow this is one kickass poem, you really need to pass that maya angelHO lady though

  • Wahab Abdul Wahab Abdul (12/12/2013 12:08:00 AM)

    The concise, laconic, perfect and perfectly savage Fire and Ice, the antithesis of the long-winded New Hampshire, belongs with the apocalyptic Once by the Pacific. The alternatives in the title represent passion and hatred, two ways of destroying the world. The poem was inspired by a passage in Canto 32 of Dante's Inferno, in which the betrayers of their own kind are plunged, while in a fiery hell, up to their necks in ice: a lake so bound with ice, / It did not took like water, but like a glass... right clear / I saw, where sinners are preserved in ice. The last, understated word in Frost's poem, suffice, clinches the meaning (like difference in The Road Not Taken) by rhyming with the two lines that end in ice and enclosing that thematic word within itself

  • Christopher Amati (9/26/2013 8:24:00 AM)

    Frost is a great American poet. The best? I wouldn't know how to choose between Hart Crane, Robert Lowell, Wallace Stevens, Elizabeth Bishop, Ezra Pound and Frost, even counting Eliot as the Englishman he wanted to be.

  • p.a. noushad p.a. noushad (9/7/2013 12:03:00 AM)

    Your verses give the insight of life through the nature and experiences.

  • Tom Safford (8/30/2013 10:54:00 PM)

    Some in America prefer Whitman or Dickinson, but to me, Frost is our best. Whitman had nothing to fight with Frost's turn of phrase, nor how Frost knew how to end a poem powerfully; Whitman was a crappy poet who became famous with his journal. Dickinson was a master at rhyming but lacked Frost's depth.

    Mending Wall
    The Road Not Taken
    Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Tree At My Window
    Fire and Ice
    Nothing Gold Can Stay
    Birches
    The Ax Helve
    Desert Places

    ...are all great poems. One man won the Pulitzer Prize in poetry four times. That man is Robert Frost, America's greatest poet. He rhymes (Whitman did not) , he is deep (Dickinson was not) , he coins phrases (good fences make good neighbors; nature's first green is gold; I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference... etc.) . Our best, period. Poetry should be both fun and profound... not boring and profound or entertaining and shallow. His mastery of profundity and rhyming/turn of phrase make Frost da best.

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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