Robert Frost Quotes
''The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. Mowing (l. 13-14). . . The Poetry of Robert Frost. Edward Connery Lathem, ed. (1979) Henry Holt.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.''
''I never dared to be radical when youngRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. Precaution.
For fear it would make me conservative when old.''
''There were three in the meadow by the brookRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Code."
Gathering up windrows, piling cocks of hay,
With an eye always lifted toward the west
Where an irregular sun-bordered cloud
Darkly advanced with a perpetual dagger
Flickering across its bosom.''
''With a laugh,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Line-Gang."
An oath of towns that set the wild at naught,
They bring the telephone and telegraph.''
''He is said to have been the last Red ManRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Vanishing Red."
In Acton. And the Miller is said to have laughed
If you like to call such a sound a laugh.''
''The farmhouse lingers, though averse to squareRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "A Brook in the City."
With the new city street it has to wear
A number in. But what about the brook
That held the house as in an elbow-crook?''
''Teach those Asians mass production?Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "An Importer."
Teach your grandmother egg suction.''
''Everyone asks for freedom for himself,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Build Soil."
The man free love, the businessman free trade,
The writer and talker free speech and free press.''
''"The wonder is I didn't see at once.Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Home Burial."
I never noticed it from here before.
I must be wonted to it that's the reason.
The little graveyard where my people are!..."''
''There was never a sound beside the wood but one,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. Mowing (l. 1-2). . . The Poetry of Robert Frost. Edward Connery Lathem, ed. (1979) Henry Holt.
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.''
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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 ...
As I came to the edge of the woods,
Thrush music -- hark!
Now if it was dusk outside,
Inside it was dark.
Too dark in the woods for a bird
By sleight of wing
To better its perch for the night,
Though it still could sing.