Robert Frost Quotes
''You can't get too much winter in the winter.''Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Snow."
''She said, "as the light on the dashboard ranRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Fear."
Along the bushes at the roadside a man's face.
You must have seen it too."''
''Trust him to have his bitter politicsRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Old Barn at the Bottom of the Fogs."
Against his unacquaintances the rich
Who sleep in houses of their own, though mortgaged.
Conservatives, they don't know what to save.''
''The truth is the river flows into the canyonRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Too Anxious for Rivers."
As sooner or later we have to cease somewhere.''
''To think to know the country and not knowRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "A Hillside Thaw."
The hillside on the day the sun lets go
Ten million silver lizards out of snow!''
''Bless you, of course you're keeping me from work,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "A Servant to Servants."
But the thing of it is, I need to be kept.
There's work enough to do there's always that;
But behind's behind. The worst that you can do
Is set me back a little more behind.
I shan't catch up in this world, anyway.
I'd rather you'd not go unless you must.''
''What but design of darkness to appall?Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. Design (l. 13-14). . . The Poetry of Robert Frost. Edward Connery Lathem, ed. (1979) Henry Holt.
If design govern in a thing so small.''
''"... I only see the years. They come and goRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "In the Home Stretch."
In alternation with the weeds, the field,
"What kind of years?"
"Why, latter years
Different from early years."''
''Lately in converse with a New York alecRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "New Hampshire."
About the new school of the pseudo-phallic ...''
''By straightening out and lifting a forefinger,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Snow."
He pointed with his hand from where it lay
Like a white crumpled spider on his knee:''
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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.