Poems List

One Step Backward Taken

One Step Backward Taken
Not only sands and gravels
Were once more on their travels,
But gulping muddy gallons
Great boulders off their balance
Bumped heads together dully
And started down the gully.
Whole capes caked off in slices.
I felt my standpoint shaken
In the universal crisis.
But with one step backward taken
I saved myself from going.
A world torn loose went by me.
Then the rain stopped and the blowing,
And the sun came out to dry me.
347

On Looking Up by Chance at the Constellations

On Looking Up by Chance at the Constellations
You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves -
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
It is true the longest drout will end in rain,
The longest peace in China will end in strife.
Still it wouldn't reward the watcher to stay awake
In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
On his particular time and personal sight.
That calm seems certainly safe to last to-night.
442

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.
376

October

October
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow's wind,
if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they
may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in
the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; one
from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with
amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes' sake, if the were all, Whose elaves already are
burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost-- For the grapes' sake along
the all.
414

Never Again Would Bird's Song Be the Same

Never Again Would Bird's Song Be the Same
He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.
498

My November Guest

My November Guest
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise
518

Meeting And Passing

Meeting And Passing
As I went down the hill along the wall
There was a gate I had leaned at for the view
And had just turned from when I first saw you
As you came up the hill. We met. But all
We did that day was mingle great and small
Footprints in summer dust as if we drew
The figure of our being less that two
But more than one as yet. Your parasol
Pointed the decimal off with one deep thrust.
And all the time we talked you seemed to see
Something down there to smile at in the dust.
(Oh, it was without prejudice to me!)
Afterward I went past what you had passed
Before we met and you what I had passed.
414

Mowing

Mowing
There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound--
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.
802

In White

In White
A dented spider like a snow drop white
On a white Heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of lifeless satin cloth -
Saw ever curious eye so strange a sight? -
Portent in little, assorted death and blight
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth? -
The beady spider, the flower like a froth,
And the moth carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The blue prunella every child's delight.
What brought the kindred spider to that height?
(Make we no thesis of the miller's plight.)
What but design of darkness and of night?
Design, design! Do I use the word aright?
486

Leaves Compared with Flowers

Leaves Compared with Flowers
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.
Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.
I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.
Leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.
419

Comments (0)

Log in to post a comment.

NoComments

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.