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The Telephone

The Telephone
'When I was just as far as I could walk From here today, There was an hour All still
When leaning with my head again a flower I heard you talk. Don't say I didn't, for I
heard you say-- You spoke from that flower on the window sill- Do you remember what
it was you said?' 'First tell me what it was you thought you heard.' 'Having found the
flower and driven a bee away, I leaned on my head And holding by the stalk, I listened
and I thought I caught the word-- What was it? Did you call me by my name? Or did
you say-- Someone said "Come" -- I heard it as I bowed.' 'I may have thought as
much, but not aloud.' "Well, so I came.'
463

The Tuft of Flowers

The Tuft of Flowers
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,
"As all must be," I said within my heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim over night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly-weed when I came.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;


So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
"Men work together," I told him from the heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."
598

The Soldier

The Soldier
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
488

The Span Of Life

The Span Of Life
The old dog barks backwards without getting up.
I can remember when he was a pup.
Anonymous submission.
358

The Road Not Taken

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, 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 marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
486

The Secret Sits

The Secret Sits
We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.
419

The Oven Bird

The Oven Bird
There is a singer eveyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past,
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment overcast;
And comes that other fall we name the fall.
He says the highway dust is over all.
The bird would cease and be as other birds
But that he knows in singing not to sing.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a diminished thing.
470

The Lockless Door

The Lockless Door
It went many years,
But at last came a knock,
And I thought of the door
With no lock to lock.
I blew out the light,
I tip-toed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.
But the knock came again
My window was wide;
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.
Back over the sill
I bade a "Come in"
To whoever the knock
At the door may have been.
So at a knock
I emptied my cage
To hide in the world
And alter with age.
493

The Hill Wife

The Hill Wife
It was too lonely for her there,
And too wild,
And since there were but two of them,
And no child.
And work was little in the house,
She was free,
And followed where he furrowed field,
Or felled log.
She rested on a log and tossed
The fresh chips,
With a song only to herself
On her lips.
And once she went to break a bough
Of black alder.
She strayed so far she scarcely heard
When he called her -
And didn't answer - didn't speak -
Or return.
She stood, and then she ran and hid
In the fern.
He never found her, though he looked
Everywhere,
And he asked at her mother's house
Was she there.
Sudden and swift and light as that
The ties gave,
And he learned of finalities
Besides the grave.
468

The Gift Outright

The Gift Outright
The land was ours before we were the land's.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England's, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.
570

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Identification and basic context

Robert Frost is widely recognized as an American poet, though he also held Canadian citizenship and spent significant time in England. His birth and death occurred in the United States. He was a prominent figure in 20th-century American literature, known for his distinctive voice and his engagement with themes of rural life and nature.

Childhood and education

Frost's early life was marked by personal loss and a move from California to Massachusetts. He attended Dartmouth College briefly and then Lawrence High School, where he began writing poetry. His formal education was somewhat interrupted, but he was a voracious reader and largely self-taught, developing a deep appreciation for classical literature and the natural world. Early influences included Romantic poets like Wordsworth and Coleridge, as well as the philosophical underpinnings of Transcendentalism.

Literary trajectory

Frost began writing poetry in his teens and early twenties, with his first poems published in magazines like the *Independent* and the *New England Magazine*. His initial attempts to establish himself as a poet in America were met with limited success, leading him to spend several years in England. It was during his time in England that his first two collections, *A Boy's Will* (1913) and *North of Boston* (1914), were published and received critical acclaim. Upon his return to the United States, his reputation grew, and he became a celebrated figure, publishing numerous collections throughout his career.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Major works include *The Road Not Taken* (1916), *Mountain Interval* (1916), *New Hampshire* (1923), *West-Running Brook* (1929), and *A Further Range* (1936). Frost's poetry often focuses on the New England landscape, exploring themes of nature, isolation, the human condition, choices and their consequences, and the tension between individual freedom and societal constraints. He is renowned for his mastery of traditional forms, particularly blank verse and the sonnet, but he infused these forms with a modern sensibility and a conversational, often colloquial, language. His style is characterized by its apparent simplicity, its underlying philosophical depth, and its use of vivid imagery drawn from the natural world. His poetic voice is often that of a wise, reflective observer.

Cultural and historical context

Frost lived and wrote during a period of significant social and technological change in America, including the Progressive Era, World War I, the Great Depression, and World War II. While his work often evokes a timeless, rural setting, it is also subtly responsive to the modern world. He was a contemporary of other major American modernist poets, but his style remained distinct, often seen as more traditional in form yet modern in its psychological exploration. He belonged to no specific literary movement but was influential in bringing a more accessible, yet profound, voice back into American poetry.

Personal life

Frost's personal life was marked by tragedy, including the deaths of children and his wife, Elinor. These experiences undoubtedly informed the elegiac and somber tones present in some of his work. He had a complex relationship with his family and struggled with financial insecurity early in his career. Despite his academic associations later in life, he maintained a strong connection to the land and to the rural communities that inspired him.

Recognition and reception

Robert Frost received immense recognition during his lifetime. He won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry four times and was appointed the Poet Laureate of Vermont. His work was widely read and admired by both the general public and the academic community. He was invited to read his poetry at presidential inaugurations, solidifying his status as a national treasure.

Influences and legacy

Frost was influenced by poets like William Wordsworth and the New England Transcendentalists. His legacy lies in his ability to connect profound philosophical insights with accessible, natural language and imagery. He profoundly influenced subsequent generations of American poets by demonstrating the power of traditional forms to convey modern sensibilities and by re-establishing a vital link between poetry and the American landscape. His work remains widely taught and studied.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Interpretations of Frost's work often highlight the dual nature of his poetry: its surface simplicity masking deeper philosophical complexities. Critics have explored themes of existential choice, the nature of reality, the relationship between humanity and nature, and the psychological dimensions of loneliness and doubt. His poem "The Road Not Taken" is frequently analyzed for its ambiguity and its commentary on the construction of personal narratives.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Despite his later fame, Frost faced significant rejections early in his career. He worked as a teacher and a farmer before finding widespread success. His strong opinions and sometimes cantankerous personality are also noted aspects of his character. He was known for his intellectual curiosity and his engagement with a wide range of subjects beyond poetry.

Death and memory

Robert Frost passed away in Boston, Massachusetts. His death was mourned as the loss of a major American literary figure. His home in Ripton, Vermont, has been preserved as a museum and educational center, and his works continue to be read, studied, and celebrated for their enduring wisdom and artistry.