Robert Frost Poems

A collection of famous poems by Robert Frost to inspire you and for reflection. Robert Frost received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and many other awards in his lifetime for his poetry work.

He was born in San Francisco, California, on March 26, 1874, and died on January 29, 1963. Robert Frost is one of America's famous poets however, one interesting note about his work is it was published in England before it was published in the United States.

Robert Frost
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Famous Poems by Robert Frost:

    The Road Not Taken is one of the most famous poems written by Robert Frost.
    This famous poem has inspired people to live their dreams rather than follow the path of everyone else.

  1. The Road Not Taken
    Poet: Robert Frost

    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....

  2. Read the entire poem, The Road Not Taken,
    on Famous Poems About Life

  3. Another famous poem that has been cited by many:

    Fire and Ice
    Poet: Robert Frost

    Some say the world will end in fire,
    Some say in ice.
    From what I’ve tasted of desire
    I hold with those who favor fire.....

  4. Read the entire poem, Fire And Ice Poem

  5. Nothing Gold Can Stay
    Poet: Robert Frost

    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.

  6. Nature Poems
    More Nature Poems by other Poets

  7. Birches
    Poet: Robert Frost

    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.
    But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay.

    Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
    Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
    After a rain. They click upon themselves
    As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored

    As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
    Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells
    Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust–
    Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away

    You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
    They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
    And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
    So low for long, they never right themselves:

    You may see their trunks arching in the woods
    Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
    Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
    Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.

    But I was going to say when Truth broke in
    With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
    (Now am I free to be poetical?)
    I should prefer to have some boy bend them

    As he went out and in to fetch the cows–
    Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
    Whose only play was what he found himself,
    Summer or winter, and could play alone.

    One by one he subdued his father’s trees
    By riding them down over and over again
    Until he took the stiffness out of them,
    And not one but hung limp, not one was left

    For him to conquer. He learned all there was
    To learn about not launching out too soon
    And so not carrying the tree away
    Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise

    To the top branches, climbing carefully
    With the same pains you use to fill a cup
    Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
    Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,

    Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
    So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
    And so I dream of going back to be.
    It’s when I’m weary of considerations,

    And life is too much like a pathless wood
    Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
    Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
    From a twig’s having lashed across it open.

    I’d like to get away from earth awhile
    And then come back to it and begin over.
    May no fate willfully misunderstand me
    And half grant what I wish and snatch me away

    Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
    I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
    I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
    And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk

    Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
    But dipped its top and set me down again.
    That would be good both going and coming back.
    One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

  8. Poems About Life
    More Poems About Life by other Poets

  9. House Fear
    Poet: Robert Frost

    Always – I tell you this they learned –
    Always at night when they returned
    To the lonely house from far away
    To lamps unlighted and fire gone gray,
    They learned to rattle the lock and key
    To give whatever might chance to be
    Warning and time to be off in flight:
    And preferring the out- to the in-door night,
    They learned to leave the house-door wide
    Until they had lit the lamp inside.

  10. Poems About Fear
    More Poems About Fear by other Poets

  11. The Smile
    Poet: Robert Frost

    I didn’t like the way he went away.
    That smile! It never came of being gay.
    Still he smiled – did you see him? – I was sure!
    Perhaps because we gave him only bread

    And the wretch knew from that that we were poor.
    Perhaps because he let us give instead
    Of seizing from us as he might have seized.
    Perhaps he mocked at us for being wed,

    Or being very young (and he was pleased
    To have a vision of us old and dead).
    I wonder how far down the road he’s got.
    He’s watching from the woods as like as not.

  12. Poems About Helping Others
    More Poems About Helping Others by other Poets

  13. Bond and Free
    Poet: Robert Frost

    Love has earth to which she clings
    With hills and circling arms about–
    Wall within wall to shut fear out.
    But Thought has need of no such things,
    For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.

    On snow and sand and turf, I see
    Where Love has left a printed trace
    With straining in the world’s embrace.
    And such is Love and glad to be.
    But Thought has shaken his ankles free.

    Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom
    And sits in Sirius’ disc all night,
    Till day makes him retrace his flight,
    With smell of burning on every plume,
    Back past the sun to an earthly room.

    His gains in heaven are what they are.
    Yet some say Love by being thrall
    And simply staying possesses all
    In several beauty that Thought fares far
    To find fused in another star.

  14. Short Love Poems
    More Short Love Poems by other Poets

  15. A Patch Of Old Snow
    Poet: Robert Frost

    There’s a patch of old snow in a corner
    That I should have guessed
    Was a blow-away paper the rain
    Had brought to rest.

    It is speckled with grime as if
    Small print overspread it,
    The news of a day I’ve forgotten –
    If I ever read it.

  16. Smile Poems
    More Smile Poems by other Poets

  17. An Old Man’s Winter Night
    Poet: Robert Frost

    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.
    What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze

    Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
    What kept him from remembering what it was
    That brought him to that creaking room was age.
    He stood with barrels round him–at a loss.

    And having scared the cellar under him
    In clomping there, he scared it once again
    In clomping off;–and scared the outer night,
    Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar

    Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
    But nothing so like beating on a box.
    A light he was to no one but himself
    Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,

    A quiet light, and then not even that.
    He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
    So late-arising, to the broken moon
    As better than the sun in any case

    For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
    His icicles along the wall to keep;
    And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
    Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,

    And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
    One aged man–one man–can’t fill a house,
    A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
    It’s thus he does it of a winter night.

  18. Winter Poems
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