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Robert Frost

Robert Frost

Dust in the Eyes

If, as they say, some dust thrown in my eyes
Will keep my talk from getting overwise,
I’m not the one for putting off the proof.
Let it be overwhelming, off a roof
And round a corner, blizzard snow for dust,
And blind me to a standstill if it must.

#Americans #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1928 #WestRunningBrook

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Other works by Robert Frost...
Quandary

Never have I been glad or sad That there was such a thing as bad… There had to be, I understood, For there to have been any good. It was by having been contrasted
Riders

The surest thing there is is we ar… And though none too successful at… Through everything presented, land… And now the very air, of what we r… What is this talked-of mystery of…
Blueberries

“You ought to have seen what I sa… To the village, through Mortenson… Blueberries as big as the end of y… Real sky-blue, and heavy, and read… In the cavernous pail of the first…
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An Old Man’s Winter Night

All out of doors looked darkly in… Through the thin frost, almost in… That gathers on the pane in empty… What kept his eyes from giving bac… Was the lamp tilted near them in h…
One Or Two: A Cloud Shadow

A breeze discovered my open book And began to flutter the leaves to… For a poem there used to be on Sp… I tried to tell her “There’s no s… For whom would a poem on Spring b…
The Rose Family

The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple’s a rose, And the pear is, and so’s
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The Objection to Being Stepped On

At the end of the row I stepped on the toe Of an unemployed hoe. It rose in offense And struck me a blow
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God’s Garden

God made a beatous garden With lovely flowers strown, But one straight, narrow pathway That was not overgrown. And to this beauteous garden
The Impulse

It was too lonely for her there, And too wild, And since there were but two of th… And no child, And work was little in the house,
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Taken Singly: After-Flakes

In the thick of a teeming snowfall I saw my shadow on snow. I turned and looked back up at the… Where we still look to ask the why Of everything below.
In Equal Sacrifice

Thus of old the Douglas did: He left his land as he was bid With the royal heart of Robert th… In a golden case with a golden lid… To carry the same to the Holy Lan…
The Egg and the Machine

He gave the solid rail a hateful k… From far away there came an answer… And then another tick. He knew th… His hate had roused an engine up t… He wished when he had had the trac…
Quantula: An Answer

But Islands of the Blessèd, bless… I never came upon a blessèd one.
Taken Singly: Design

I found a dimpled spider, fat and… On a white heal-all, holding up a… Like a white piece of rigid satin… Assorted characters of death and b… Mixed ready to begin the morning r…
Søndermarken Park in winter, by Vilhelm Hammershøi
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I k… His house is in the village, thoug… He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with sn… My little horse must think it quee…
 23



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