Robert Frost

(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)

Robert Frost Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
1. Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter 5/6/2015
2. The Egg and the Machine 3/11/2016
3. The Generations of Men 5/16/2015
4. The Kitchen Chimney 1/27/2016
5. Brown's Descent 1/14/2016
6. The Flood 12/10/2015
7. Pea Brush 3/11/2016
8. The Birthplace 5/14/2015
9. Directive 6/26/2015
10. The Last Mowing 3/11/2016
11. New Hampshire 3/11/2016
12. The Housekeeper 3/11/2016
13. An Empty Threat 3/11/2016
14. Sitting by a Bush in Broad Sunlight 3/10/2016
15. The Investment 3/11/2016
16. The Pauper Witch of Grafton 3/1/2016
17. Immigrants 6/8/2015
18. A Hillside Thaw 3/11/2016
19. Sand Dunes 3/10/2016
20. Wild Grapes 3/11/2016
21. The Last Word of a Blue Bird 3/10/2016
22. The Times Table 3/11/2016
23. Locked Out 3/11/2016
24. On a Tree Fallen Across the Road 3/10/2016
25. A Winter Eden 3/11/2016
26. The Witch of Coos 11/24/2015
27. I Will Sing You One-O 3/10/2016
28. Good Hours 3/10/2016
29. Maple 6/24/2015
30. Riders 3/10/2016
31. Snow 2/23/2016
32. The Runaway 3/10/2016
33. Acceptance 3/10/2016
34. A Passing Glimpse 3/10/2016
35. Dust in the Eyes 3/11/2016
36. A Fountain, a Bottle, a Donkey's Ears, and Some Books 3/5/2016
37. Atmosphere 3/11/2016
38. Misgiving 7/11/2015
39. In The Home Stretch 1/9/2015
40. Paul's Wife 2/3/2015
Best Poem of Robert Frost

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 ...

Read the full of The Road Not Taken

Come In

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.

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