Robert Frost
Robert Frost
Robert Lee Frostwas an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in America. He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes. One of the most popular and critically respected American poets of the twentieth century, Frost was honored frequently...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth26 March 1874
CitySan Francisco, CA
CountryUnited States of America
He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be.
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
The question that he frames in all but words is what to make of a diminished thing.
Nothing gold can stay.
I am assured at any rate Man's practically inexterminate. Someday I must go into that. There's always been an Ararat Where someone someone else begat To start the world all over at.
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.
It takes all sorts of in and outdoor schooling To get adapted to my kind of fooling.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile / And then come back to it and begin over.
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away / You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
The snake stood up for evil in the Garden.
I hate the idea that you ought to read the whole of anybody.
Word I was in my life alone, / Word I had no one left but God.
Keats mourned that the rainbow, which as a boy had been for him a magic thing, had lost its glory because the physicists had found it resulted merely from the refraction of the sunlight by the raindrops. Yet knowledge of its causation could not spoil the rainbow for me. I am sure that it is not given to man to be omniscient. There will always be something left to know, something to excite the imagination of the poet and those attuned to the great world in which they live (p. 64)