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