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.
121. The Gum-Gatherer 1/13/2003
122. The Hill Wife 1/3/2003
123. The Impulse 3/29/2010
124. The Kitchen Chimney 1/27/2016
125. The Line-Gang 1/13/2003
126. The Lockless Door 1/3/2003
127. The Master Speed 9/14/2013
128. The Most Of It 12/17/2014
129. The Mountain 3/29/2010
130. The Need Of Being Versed In Country Things 1/3/2003
131. The Objection To Being Stepped On 3/29/2010
132. The Oft-Repeated Dream 3/30/2010
133. The Onset 1/8/2015
134. The Oven Bird 1/3/2003
135. The Pasture 1/3/2003
136. The Peaceful Shepherd 12/4/2014
137. The Road Not Taken 1/3/2003
138. The Rose Family 1/3/2003
139. The Secret Sits 1/3/2003
140. The Silken Tent 1/3/2003
141. The Soldier 1/3/2003
142. The Sound Of Trees 1/3/2003
143. The Span Of Life 1/13/2003
144. The Star Splitter 1/3/2003
145. The Telephone 1/13/2003
146. The Trial By Existence 1/13/2003
147. The Tuft Of Flowers 1/3/2003
148. The Vanishing Red 1/13/2003
149. The Vantage Point 1/13/2003
150. The Witch of Coos 11/24/2015
151. The Wood-Pile 1/3/2003
152. They Were Welcome To Their Belief 1/3/2003
153. To E.T. 1/3/2003
154. To Earthward 1/3/2003
155. To The Thawing Wind 1/13/2003
156. Tree At My Window 1/3/2003
157. Two Look At Two 1/3/2003
158. Two Tramps In Mud Time 1/3/2003
159. Unharvested 3/8/2011
160. Waiting -- Afield At Dusk 3/29/2010
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

A Time To Talk

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall

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