greykit.poetry — Robert Frost
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1928
[robert-frost]
Acquainted with the Night
A terza rima walk past the watchman and the saddest city lane, stopping at an interrupted cry that was not for him, under a luminary clock that proclaims the time neither wrong nor right.
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1923
[robert-frost]
Fire and Ice
Nine lines that weigh desire against hate as ways for the world to end, and find ice would suffice.
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1923
[robert-frost]
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold and her hardest hue to hold: leaf subsides to leaf, Eden sinks to grief, dawn goes down to day.
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1923
[robert-frost]
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A pause between the woods and frozen lake on the darkest evening of the year, the horse shaking its bells at the strangeness of it — lovely, dark and deep, and set against promises and miles to go before sleep.
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1916
[robert-frost]
Birches
Ice storms bend the birches for good, but the poet would rather believe a boy did it — and wants the same for himself: to climb toward heaven until the tree sets him down again, since earth's the right place for love.
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1916
[robert-frost]
The Road Not Taken
Two roads in a yellow wood, worn really about the same, and one taken for no better reason than that it had to be — with the sigh and the difference reserved for a telling ages and ages hence.
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1914
[robert-frost]
After Apple-Picking
The ladder still points at heaven and a barrel stands unfilled, but the picker is done — drowsing through a pane of hoary ice, magnified apples appearing and disappearing, unsure whether the coming sleep is the woodchuck's or just human sleep.
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1914
[robert-frost]
Mending Wall
Two men walk the line each spring putting back the stones that winter and hunters threw down. One keeps saying good fences make good neighbours; the other keeps wondering what he was walling in or walling out.