Robert Frost Quotes
''I see for Nature no defeatRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "[In Winter in the Woods . . . ]...."
In one tree's overthrow
Or for myself in my retreat
For yet another blow.''
''I saw the strange position of his handsRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "An Encounter."
Up at his shoulders, dragging yellow strands
Of wire with something in it from men to men.
"You here?" I said. "Where aren't you nowadays?..."''
''Plant, breed, produce,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Build Soil."
But what you raise or grow, why, feed it out,
Eat it or plow it under where it stands,
To build the soil.''
''"Three foggy mornings and one rainy dayRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Home Burial."
Will rot the best birch fence a man can build."''
''My apple trees will never get acrossRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. Mending Wall, North of Boston (1914).
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors."''
''Its flowers' distilled honey is so sweetRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Pod of the Milkweed."
It makes the butterflies intemperate.''
''The melancholy of having to count soulsRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Census-Taker."
Where they grow fewer and fewer every year
Is extreme where they shrink to none at all.
It must be I want life to go on living.''
''The cloister and the observatory saintRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Lesson for Today."
Take comfort in about the same complaint.
So science and religion really meet.''
''I went to turn the grass once after oneRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. The Tuft of Flowers (l. 1-2). . . The Poetry of Robert Frost. Edward Connery Lathem, ed. (1979) Henry Holt.
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.''
''He meditates the breeder's art.Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "A Blue Ribbon at Amesbury."
He has a half a mind to start,
With her for Mother Eve, a race
That shall all living things displace.''
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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 ...
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.