Robert Frost Quotes
''Nothing will be left white but here a birch,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. The Onset (l. 22-23). . . The Poetry of Robert Frost. Edward Connery Lathem, ed. (1979) Henry Holt.
And there a clump of houses with a church.''
''Burst into my narrow stall;Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "To the Thawing Wind."
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.''
''It takes the moon for this. The sun's a wizardRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "A Hillside Thaw."
By all I tell; but so's the moon a witch.''
''You take the lake. I look and look at it.Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "A Servant to Servants."
I see it's a fair, pretty sheet of water.
I stand and make myself repeat out loud
The advantages it has....''
''First there's the children's house of make believe,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. Directive (l. 41-44). . . The Poetry of Robert Frost. Edward Connery Lathem, ed. (1979) Henry Holt.
Some shattered dishes underneath a pine,
The playthings in the playhouse of the children.
Weep for what little things could make them glad.''
''The first night after guests have gone, the houseRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "In the Home Stretch."
Seems haunted or exposed.''
''I met a Californian who wouldRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "New Hampshire," New Hampshire.
Talk Californiaa state so blessed
He said, in climate, none had ever died there
A natural death, and Vigilance Committees
Had had to organize to stock the graveyards
And vindicate the state's humanity.''
''"A baby's crying!Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Snow."
Frantic it sounds, though muffled and far off.
Its mother wouldn't let it cry like that,
Not if she's there."''
''May I in my brief bolt across the sceneRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Fear of Man."
Not be misunderstood in what I mean.''
''As one who overtaken by the endRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. The Onset (l. 7-11). . . The Poetry of Robert Frost. Edward Connery Lathem, ed. (1979) Henry Holt.
Gives up his errand, and lets death descend
Upon him where he is, with nothing done
To evil, no important triumph won,
More than if life had never been begun.''
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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.