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.
161. A Line-Storm Song 1/3/2003
162. Devotion 1/3/2003
163. A Servant To Servants 1/13/2003
164. A Dream Pang 1/3/2003
165. The Silken Tent 1/3/2003
166. Dust Of Snow 1/3/2003
167. The Secret Sits 1/3/2003
168. An Old Man's Winter Night 1/3/2003
169. Bereft 1/3/2003
170. A Patch Of Old Snow 1/3/2003
171. A Cliff Dwelling 1/3/2003
172. Desert Places 1/3/2003
173. A Boundless Moment 1/13/2003
174. After Apple Picking 1/3/2003
175. The Rose Family 1/3/2003
176. A Considerable Speck 1/3/2003
177. Mending Wall 1/3/2003
178. A Brook In The City 1/13/2003
179. Asking For Roses 1/3/2003
180. Birches 1/3/2003
181. A Time To Talk 1/3/2003
182. A Prayer In Spring 1/3/2003
183. A Soldier 1/13/2003
184. A Minor Bird 1/13/2003
185. A Question 1/3/2003
186. A Late Walk 1/3/2003
187. Acquainted With The Night 1/3/2003
188. Nothing Gold Can Stay 1/3/2003
189. Fire And Ice 1/3/2003
190. Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening 1/3/2003
191. The Road Not Taken 1/3/2003
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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