Robert Frost Poems

  • 151.  
    “You ought to have seen what I saw on my way
    To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day:Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb,
  • 152.  
    When I see birches bend to left and right
    Across the lines of straighter darker trees,I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
  • 153.  
    Where had I heard this wind before
    Change like this to a deeper roar?What would it take my standing there for,
  • 154.  
    A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master,
    With doors that none but the wind ever closes,Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster;
  • 155.  
    All out of doors looked darkly in at him
    Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
  • 156.  
    Once on the kind of day called “weather breeder,”
    When the heat slowly hazes and the sunBy its own power seems to be undone,
  • 157.  
    My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
    Toward heaven still.And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
  • 158.  
    I have been one acquainted with the night.
    I have walked out in rain-and back in rain.I have outwalked the furthest city light.
  • 159.  
    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
  • 160.  
    He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
    That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
  • 161.  
    I didn't make you know how glad I was
    To have you come and camp here on our land.I promised myself to get down some day
  • 162.  
    A voice said, Look me in the stars
    And tell me truly, men of earth,If all the soul-and-body scars
  • 163.  
    Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
    And give us not to think so far awayAs the uncertain harvest; keep us here
  • 164.  
    There's a patch of old snow in a corner
    That I should have guessedWas a blow-away paper the rain
  • 165.  
    I have wished a bird would fly away,
    And not sing by my house all day;
  • 166.  
    The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift.
    The road is forlorn all day,Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,
  • 167.  
    When I go up through the mowing field,
    The headless aftermath,Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
  • 168.  
    Lancaster bore him-such a little town,
    Such a great man. It doesn't see him oftenOf late years, though he keeps the old homestead
  • 169.  
    A neighbor of mine in the village
    Likes to tell how one springWhen she was a girl on the farm, she did
  • 170.  
    I had withdrawn in forest, and my song
    Was swallowed up in leaves that blew alway;And to the forest edge you came one day
  • 171.  
    There sandy seems the golden sky
    And golden seems the sandy plain.No habitation meets the eye
  • 172.  
    The farmhouse lingers, though averse to square
    With the new city street it has to wearA number in. But what about the brook
  • 173.  
    He halted in the wind, and-what was that
    Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?He stood there bringing March against his thought,
Total 173 poems written by Robert Frost

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

There where the rusty iron lies,
The rooks are cawing all the day.
Perhaps no man, until he dies,
Will understand them, what they say.

The evening makes the sky like clay.
The slow wind waits for night to rise.
The world is half content. But they

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