Robert Frost

Robert Frost poems

Robert Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was a highly influential American poet, born in San Francisco, California. After his father’s death in 1885, his family moved to Lawrence, Massachusetts, where he spent much of his childhood. Frost attended Dartmouth College briefly before transferring to Harvard, but he left after two semesters to pursue writing, facing financial challenges.

Renowned for his formal simplicity and philosophical reflections, Frost’s poetry often explores themes of rural life, New England landscapes, and customs. He is celebrated as the most honored American poet of the 20th century, receiving the Pulitzer Prize four times. His work remains highly esteemed in American literature.

In 1895, Frost married Elinor Miriam White, a fellow student from high school. The couple had six children, but their family life was marked by tragedy, including the deaths of four of their children. These personal losses deeply influenced Frost’s poetry, often reflecting themes of grief and nature.

Robert Frost poetry

Frost began his writing career in earnest after moving to a farm in New Hampshire in 1900. His early work was not widely recognized, and he spent several years as a teacher and farmer. His breakthrough came in 1913 with the publication of “A Boy’s Will,” followed by “North of Boston” in 1914. These collections showcased his mastery of everyday language and rural New England themes, establishing him as a significant voice in American poetry.

The poet’s grandfather gifted him a farm in New Hampshire, where he lived for over nine years and created the works that comprised his first volumes. However, his attempt at poultry farming was unsuccessful, leading him to take a teaching position at Pinkerton Academy. In 1912, Frost and his family traveled to Glasgow, eventually settling in Beaconsfield near London.

The following year, his first poetry collection, “A Boy’s Will,” was published. While in England, Frost formed significant creative relationships with figures like Edward Thomas, T. E. Hulme, and Ezra Pound, the latter of whom was the first American to offer a positive review of Frost’s work. During his time in England, he wrote several pieces that are now considered some of his finest.

Frost returned to the United States in 1915, bought a farm in Franconia, New Hampshire, and began his career as a writer, teacher, and lecturer. From 1916 to 1938, he taught English at Amherst College, encouraging his creative students to incorporate the sounds of everyday speech into their poetry. Frost himself frequently included elements of dialogue in his works, as seen in “Death of the Hired Man.” Some of his most esteemed pieces include “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” “Mending Wall,” “Nothing Gold Can Stay,” “Birches,” “After Apple Picking,” “The Pasture,” “Fire and Ice,” “The Road Not Taken,” and “Directive,” among others.

Frost’s work is known for its exploration of complex themes, including nature, human emotion, and the intricacies of life. His most famous poems include “The Road Not Taken,” “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” and “Mending Wall.” His use of traditional forms and conversational language set him apart from many of his contemporaries.

Throughout his career, Frost received numerous accolades, including four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. He was a beloved figure in American literature and was invited to read at the inauguration of President John F. Kennedy in 1961, although he was unable to recite his poem due to the sun’s glare.

In addition to his writing, Frost was a teacher and lecturer at several prestigious institutions, including Amherst College and the University of Michigan. He became known for his engaging teaching style and mentorship of young writers.

Robert Frost died on January 29, 1963, in Boston, Massachusetts, at the age of 88. His legacy endures through his profound influence on American poetry and literature. Frost’s ability to capture the human experience in the context of nature and his use of accessible language continue to resonate with readers and writers today.

Poems by Robert Frost

A Line-Storm Song

by

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift. The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain. The birds … Read more

A Late Walk

by

When I go up through the mowing field, The headless aftermath, Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew, Half closes the garden path. And when I come to the garden ground, The whir of sober birds Up from the tangle of withered weeds Is sadder than any words. A tree beside the wall stands bare, … Read more

A Hillside Thaw

by

To think to know the country and now know The hillside on the day the sun lets go Ten million silver lizards out of snow! As often as I’ve seen it done before I can’t pretend to tell the way it’s done. It looks as if some magic of the sun Lifted the rug that … Read more

A Girl’s Garden

by

A neighbor of mine in the village Likes to tell how one spring When she was a girl on the farm, she did A childlike thing. One day she asked her father To give her a garden plot To plant and tend and reap herself, And he said, ‘Why not?’ In casting about for a … Read more

A Dream Pang

by

I had withdrawn in forest, and my song Was swallowed up in leaves that blew alway; And to the forest edge you came one day (This was my dream) and looked and pondered long, But did not enter, though the wish was strong: You shook your pensive head as who should say, ‘I dare not … Read more

A Considerable Speck

by

A speck that would have been beneath my sight On any but a paper sheet so white Set off across what I had written there. And I had idly poised my pen in air To stop it with a period of ink When something strange about it made me think, This was no dust speck … Read more

A Cliff Dwelling

by

There sandy seems the golden sky And golden seems the sandy plain. No habitation meets the eye Unless in the horizon rim, Some halfway up the limestone wall, That spot of black is not a stain Or shadow, but a cavern hole, Where someone used to climb and crawl To rest from his besetting fears. … Read more

A Cabin In The Clearing

by

MIST – I don’t believe the sleepers in the house know where they are. SMOKE – They’ve been here long enough to push the woods back from around the house and part them in the middle with a path. MIST – And still I doubt if they know where they are. And I begin to … Read more

Acquainted with the Night

by

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 watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the … Read more

Birches

by

When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy’s been swinging them. But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon … Read more

A Brook In The City

by

The farmhouse 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 a finger length And made it leap my knuckle, … Read more

A Boundless Moment

by

He halted in the wind, and – what was that Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost? He stood there bringing March against his thought, And yet too ready to believe the most. “Oh, that’s the Paradise-in-bloom,” I said; And truly it was fair enough for flowers had we but in us to … Read more

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by

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. … Read more

Mending Wall

by

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 … Read more

The Road Not Taken

by

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 … Read more