Best Poems of Robert Frost

Best Poems of Robert Frost…

Robert Frost (1874-1963) was an American poet who is widely considered one of the most popular poets of the 20th century. He was born in San Francisco. Frost spent a large part of his childhood in New England. He studied at Dartmouth College and later moved to Harvard University. His first book of poems A Boy’s Will was published in 1913, followed by North of Boston in 1914. 

His poetry combined elements of romanticism and modernism in theme and style. Frost wrote of nature and of the loneliness of the human condition. Frost’s most well-known poems, such as Mending Wall (1914), The Road Not Taken (1916), and Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (1923). The only writer to have been awarded four Pulitzer Prizes for his poetry.

 

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

 

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

 

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

 

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

 

Tree at my Window

Tree at my window, window tree,

My sash is lowerd when night comes on;

But let there never be curtain drawn

Between you and me.

 

Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground.

And thing next most diffuse to cloud,

Not all your light tongues talking aloud

Could be profound.

 

But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,

And if you have seen me when I slept,

You have seen me when I was taken and Swift

And all but lost.

 

That day she put our heads together,

Fate had her imagination about her,

Your head so much concerned with outer,

Mine with inner, weather.

 

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 bend in the undergrowth;

 

Then look 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 we leads on to way,

I doubted if there I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

To roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

Desert Places

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast

In a field I looked into going past,

And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,

But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

 

The woods around it have it– it is theirs.

All animals are smothered in their lairs.

I am too absent-spirited to count;

The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is that loneliness

Will be more lonely ere it will be less–

A blanker whiteness of benighted snow

With no expression, nothing to express.

 

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces

Between stars– on stars where no human race is.

I have it in me so much nearer home

To scares myself with my own desert places.

 

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’v tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction of ice

Is also great

and would suffice.

 

Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain–and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

 

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchmen on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

 

I have Stood Still and stop the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

 

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

And further still at an earthly height,

One luminary clock against the sky

 

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

 

Mending Wall

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 one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make the balance:

‘Stay where you are until are backs are turned!

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, ‘ Good fences make good neighbors.’

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

Why do they make good neighbors?  Isn’t it

Where there are cows?  But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know

What I was wailing in or wailing out,

And to whom I was like to give offense.

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,

But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as a seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father’s saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

 

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