Frost, Robert

Love and a Question by Robert Frost A STRANGER came to the door at eve, And he spoke the bridegroom fair. He bore a green-white stick in his hand, And, for all burden, care. He asked with the eyes more than the lips For a shelter for the night, And he turned and looked at…

Spoils of the Dead by Robert Frost Two fairies it was On a still summer day Came forth in the woods With the flowers to play. The flowers they plucked They cast on the ground For others, and those For still others they found. Flower-guided it was That they came as they ran On something…

Stars by Robert Frost HOW countlessly they congregate O’er our tumultuous snow, Which flows in shapes as tall as trees When wintry winds do blow!? As if with keenness for our fate, Our faltering few steps on To white rest, and a place of rest Invisible at dawn,? And yet with neither love nor hate,…

Ghost House by Robert Frost I dwell in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago, And left no trace but the cellar walls, And a cellar in which the daylight falls, And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow. O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield The woods come back to the mowing field;…

A BROOK IN THE CITY by Robert Frost The farm house lingers, though averse to square 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? I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength And impulse, having dipped…

Mending Wall By Robert Frost Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not…

Design by Robert Frost I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth? Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth? A snow-drop spider, a flower like froth,…

Robert Frost (1874-1963) THE ROAD NOT TAKEN by Robert Frost 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,…

One of the greatest American Poets. Robert Frost (1874-1963). He won 4 Pulitzer Prizes for his poetry.