Robert Frost Quotes
''He lingered for some word she wouldn't say,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Snow."
Said it at last himself, "Good-night," and then,
Getting no answer, closed the telephone.''
''Take a timberRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Generations of Men."
That you shall find lies in the cellar, charred
Among the raspberries, and hew and shape it
For a doorsill or other corner piece
In a new cottage on the ancient spot.
The life is not yet all gone out of it.
And come and make your summer dwelling here....''
''No burst of nuclear phenomenonRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "The Planners."
That put an end to what was going on
Could make much difference to the dead and gone.''
''The Sun is satisfied with days.''Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Two Leading Lights."
''The headless aftermath ...''Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "A Late Walk."
''Lord, I have loved Your sky,Robert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Astrometaphysical."
Be it said against or for me,
Have loved it clear and high,
Or low and stormy....''
''If, as they say, some dust thrown in my eyesRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Dust in the Eyes."
Will keep my talk from getting overwise,
I'm not the one for putting off the proof.''
'''Tis the world-old way of the rainRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "In Time of Cloudburst."
When it comes to a mountain farm
To exact for a present gain
A little of future harm.''
''The sameRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Not to Keep."
Grim giving to do over for them both.
She dared no more than ask him with her eyes
How was it with him for a second trial.
And with his eyes he asked her not to ask.
They had given him back to her, but not to keep.''
''"Our snowstorms as a ruleRobert Frost (1874-1963), U.S. poet. "Snow."
Aren't looked on as man-killers, and although
I'd rather be the beast that sleeps the sleep
Under it all, his door sealed up and lost,
Than the man fighting it to keep above it,
Yet think of the small birds at roost and not
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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.