Hot Best Seller

The Poetry of Robert Frost

Availability: Ready to download

The only comprehensive gathering of Frost's published poetry, this affordable volume offers the entire contents of his eleven books of verse, from A Boy's Will (1913) to In the Clearing (1962). Frost scholar Lathem, who was also a close friend of the four-time Pulitzer Prize-winner, scrupulously annotated the 350-plus poems in this collection, which has been the standard The only comprehensive gathering of Frost's published poetry, this affordable volume offers the entire contents of his eleven books of verse, from A Boy's Will (1913) to In the Clearing (1962). Frost scholar Lathem, who was also a close friend of the four-time Pulitzer Prize-winner, scrupulously annotated the 350-plus poems in this collection, which has been the standard edition of Frost's work since it first appeared in 1969.


Compare

The only comprehensive gathering of Frost's published poetry, this affordable volume offers the entire contents of his eleven books of verse, from A Boy's Will (1913) to In the Clearing (1962). Frost scholar Lathem, who was also a close friend of the four-time Pulitzer Prize-winner, scrupulously annotated the 350-plus poems in this collection, which has been the standard The only comprehensive gathering of Frost's published poetry, this affordable volume offers the entire contents of his eleven books of verse, from A Boy's Will (1913) to In the Clearing (1962). Frost scholar Lathem, who was also a close friend of the four-time Pulitzer Prize-winner, scrupulously annotated the 350-plus poems in this collection, which has been the standard edition of Frost's work since it first appeared in 1969.

30 review for The Poetry of Robert Frost

  1. 5 out of 5

    Lena

    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. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. Robert Frost was a genius.

  2. 4 out of 5

    Julie

    It's not that I have a favourite Robert Frost poem -- he's not that kind of fellow. Yes, there are many "quotable quotes" that people bandy about; but again, he's not that kind of fellow. I dip into this collection again and again, when I want the world to slow down a little, and I just want to dream away a few hours, an afternoon. These are especially good on snowy, blustery, mid-winter afternoons when there is nothing to do, and nowhere to go. And in the evening, you stop by a wood, ... It's not that I have a favourite Robert Frost poem -- he's not that kind of fellow. Yes, there are many "quotable quotes" that people bandy about; but again, he's not that kind of fellow. I dip into this collection again and again, when I want the world to slow down a little, and I just want to dream away a few hours, an afternoon. These are especially good on snowy, blustery, mid-winter afternoons when there is nothing to do, and nowhere to go. And in the evening, you stop by a wood, ... lovely, dark, and deep. He's the kind of fellow with whom you could have had long, interesting conversations, whether or not the discourse took you anywhere on that particular day; but to never make the mistake, in that conversation, of confusing his simplicity of language with simplicity of thought -- for he is more than "a considerable speck" in the universe and he has allowed me to take many roads, in my mind, not taken in the physical world. This is a well-thumbed, well-loved collection.

  3. 5 out of 5

    Luís C.

    Source: http://www.gradesaver.com/the-poetry-... The narrator has traveled throughout the world, across mountains and rivers, and now finds himself on the path back home. His journey has ended, and he is shocked to find the signs of the dead season all around him: crusted snow, dead leaves, withering flowers. He had not expected such a sight when he returned home, and despairingly considers leaving again. However, he refuses to accept the end of the season without fighting for it and ends the Source: http://www.gradesaver.com/the-poetry-... The narrator has traveled throughout the world, across mountains and rivers, and now finds himself on the path back home. His journey has ended, and he is shocked to find the signs of the dead season all around him: crusted snow, dead leaves, withering flowers. He had not expected such a sight when he returned home, and despairingly considers leaving again. However, he refuses to accept the end of the season without fighting for it and ends the poem on a courageous, hopeful note.

  4. 5 out of 5

    Ted

    I'm currently working my way through this book, which is the standard edition of his collected poetry. Should be done some time in 2018 2019 never. Frost in 1941 I'm abandoning my reading of Frost's poetry. Too many other books to get read. Having gotten up through A Witness Tree I'm guessing that I've probably read most of his poems that are still remembered. It was a great journey, I found out a lot about Frost and the surprising poetry that he wrote through most of his long life. A very modern I'm currently working my way through this book, which is the standard edition of his collected poetry. Should be done some time in 2018 2019 never. Frost in 1941 I'm abandoning my reading of Frost's poetry. Too many other books to get read. Having gotten up through A Witness Tree I'm guessing that I've probably read most of his poems that are still remembered. It was a great journey, I found out a lot about Frost and the surprising poetry that he wrote through most of his long life. A very modern poet, even though in the end I get the impression that he is properly classified as a quite regional poet, one who in much of his work writes of people and attitudes that are found in American New England - that area northeast of New York and even more specifically north of Boston. Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, and the northern edge of Massachusetts. - - - - - - - - - - - - Below are the nine collections of poetry the book contains, the year the collection was published, and links to separate reviews of the collections, for those I've read and reviewed. These reviews will primarily be comprised of quotations of some of the poems I enjoyed most, with perhaps some additional comments. (1) A Boy's Will, 1913 - review (2) North of Boston, 1914 - review (3) Mountain Interval, 1916 - review (4) New Hampshire, 1924 - review (5) West-Running Brook, 1929 - review (6) A Further Range, 1936 - review (7) A Witness Tree, 1942 - review not yet written. and the unread ... (8) Steeple Bush, 1947 (9) In the Clearing, 1962 Plus two plays Frost wrote: (10) A Masque of Reason, 1945 (11) A Masque of Mercy, 1947 Finally (not in the book), I've reviewed the following: Robert Frost: A Collection of Critical Essays, edited by James M. Cox. See the link for Previous library review below. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Previous review: Basil Street Blues Next review: North of Boston Older review: Understanding Power Previous library review: Robert Frost critical reviews Next library review: A Boy's Will see above

  5. 4 out of 5

    Jan-Maat

    I was intrigued to learn that Frost and Edward Thomas had met and spent time together in England before the first world war following on from a review of some of Frost's poetry by Thomas. I feel both that in some way that the two of these people are now coming together in my understanding is a sign both of the deficiencies in my education and that luckily there is ever more to discover about the world. I believe "The Road not taken" was inspired by some of the walks the two went on and that I was intrigued to learn that Frost and Edward Thomas had met and spent time together in England before the first world war following on from a review of some of Frost's poetry by Thomas. I feel both that in some way that the two of these people are now coming together in my understanding is a sign both of the deficiencies in my education and that luckily there is ever more to discover about the world. I believe "The Road not taken" was inspired by some of the walks the two went on and that Frost encouraged Thomas to write and publish his own poetry too. There is something unnerving about that connection for me, perhaps just the sense of how long Frost's adult life was since he was also performing at the inauguration (view spoiler)[ there's a lovely Roman word carrying the ideology of an alien world into modern times (hide spoiler)] of J.F. Kennedy. I recall a verse about almost being carried off by an eagle as a child which has then that reoccurring theme in poetry of the writer's self identity as poet, but also their own place in their culture. Frost not becoming Ganymede stands in relation to Petrarch and his Laura evoking the laurel which crowns the poet's brow as symbol of the Muse's victory. Although the volume, no doubt cheaply acquired, stands on the shelf I doubt I'll become deeply acquainted with it. Poetry for me has the feel of hard work to it, I am a lazy reader, disinclined to break my head over ambiguous phrasing and elusive meaning.

  6. 4 out of 5

    Grey853

    Robert Frost wrote some stunning and thought provoking poems. Almost everyone has heard of "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening" or "The Road Not Taken", but one of my all time favorites is "Desert Places". The last verse: "They cannot scare me with their empty spaces Between stars--on stars where no human race is. I have it in me so much nearer home To scare myself with my own desert places."

  7. 4 out of 5

    Alan

    Spent my morning with these trying to find RF's critical assessment of fame, how his neighbors come last to recognize him. Turns out, it's not in the Complete, since he was elected Poet Laureate of Vermont (where he'd moved from N.H. forty years before) in 1961, at age 85. Year after he recited from memory at JFK's Inauguration. Wryly, Frost responds "On Being Chosen Poet of Vermont," "Breathes there a bard who isn't moved/ When he finds his verse is understood…By his country and his Spent my morning with these trying to find RF's critical assessment of fame, how his neighbors come last to recognize him. Turns out, it's not in the Complete, since he was elected Poet Laureate of Vermont (where he'd moved from N.H. forty years before) in 1961, at age 85. Year after he recited from memory at JFK's Inauguration. Wryly, Frost responds "On Being Chosen Poet of Vermont," "Breathes there a bard who isn't moved/ When he finds his verse is understood…By his country and his neighborhood." And that IS the order, friends: The Country will recognize you before your neighbors do, especially yankees, mebbe. I found this stunning, despite almost five decades of familiarity, many of them teaching certain poems like "Home Burial" and "A Servant to Servants," and of course property feeling in "Stopping by Woods", as well as the role of Edward Thomas and England in the universally misunderstood and admired "Road not Taken," with the most famous aposiopesis in English and American lit, "and I--/ …I took…." My perusal this morning suggested I had neglected a dozen bird poems I should have noted in my "Birdtalk", like "Never again would Birds' Sounds be the Same," "Directive" about the Phoebes weeping to those not versed in country things, "Minor Bird" possibly about Titmouses or Phoebes, and others. Then, for this Amtrak rider, Boston to Colorado six times, some poems start from trains, "A Passing Glimpse," "Figure in the Doorway," and "On the Heart's Beginning to Cloud the Mind."(One, a train in Utah.) And several on wells, from the prolog "Pasture" to "For Once, then, Something." And even old shoes, "A Record Stride." In my childhood good fortune, I lived on my grandparents Crockett Ridge, Maine, farm, with a board-covered spring-fed well, complete with frog, in the pasture across the dirt road now named Ralph Richardson after my Gramp. Because it was covered, never did have to clean it, “I’m going out to clean the pasture spring. I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away, And stay to watch the water clear, I may. I won’t be gone long— You come, too. I’m going out to fetch the little calf Who’s standing by its mother. It’s so young It totters when she licks it with her tongue. I won’t be gone long—You come, too.” I never fetched the calf separate from its mother, Polly, whom I lead with a stick, never to hit, but to slow her under her neck. Polly calved every year, and my grandfather, a butcher from the town store once named for his family, would wait until we boys had left in August to veal the calf. Above these subjects looms the writer's flexible, ironic, undercutting voice and tone, still uncommon in American poetry, so often elevated, sublime, the "I" growing as s/he speaks. And may I say, as a lifelong "liberal," community college teacher, supporter of the American Dream and fulfillment thereof, I was amused at RF's parodic political satire mostly from the R--Rep or Right.* His "Departmental" could be a satire on Hillary anthill: "Death's come to Jerry McCormick,/ Our selfless forager Jerry" (372); as could "A Roadside Stand" be a satire on my whole political and professional life, "Where they won't have to think for themselves anymore;/ While greedy good-doers, beneficent beasts of prey,/ Swarm over their lives enforcing benefits/ That are calculated to soothe them out of their wits…"(370). Frost famously conflicted with the Amherst College liberal President Meiklejohn, whose policies RF termed at the time, "Micklejaundice." But later in life, Frost conceded, "Meiklejohn was right." Well…I find Frost's poetry filled with nuggets, turns of phrase, sometimes parodic turns, and especially quick changes in tone--rare in any but cummings and Dickinson, who lived down the street from where Frost taught in 1919, and whose life overlapped his by eleven years. Bill Pritchard's literary biography (based on his Ph.D. 24 years earlier) is unsurpassed as a poetic reading, and it contains a photo of Frost regaling my two great, witty Amherst College teachers, Baird (Shakespeare) and Craig (My Freshman Comp and an upperclass Seminar on Dickens and James). As Chair of English, Craig taught my section of daily Freshman English. One morning he asked my class, staring out the window, if any of us saw drumlins out there? No-one did. Craig, "You can't see them if you don't know the word." (See RF, "Drumlin Woodcock."). Both Baird and Craig endorsed my senior honors thesis on Renaissance prosody and tone, directed by the learned and witty Richard Cody. I rejoice in having had such teachers, but I do wonder at all that I have missed through decades of familiarity. As Baird once wrote me of my grad subject, Andrew Marvell, his "To His Coy Mistress' is much better than familiarity suggests. I would say, this goes for most of Frost--though may I add, his neighbor down the street, of another gender, surpasses him…and all but one or two poets. But both ED and RF expand our New England dialect vocabulary, like "aftermath" for the second mowing. *Now the Democrats live Frostian: they swept the 2018 elections in the House, because they embraced Frost, "I go to school to youth to learn the Future." --"What Fifty Said," from West-Running Brook (1928) The Democrats clearly support Frost's (Protestant?) work ethic, as in his first book, A Boy's Will, on the mower leaving Asclepias Tuberosa, wild "Butterfly Weed," the only flowers for the "(be-)'wildered butterfly" trying to find the flowers that were there the day before. Frost ends that one, "Men work together," I told him from my heart, "Whether they work together or apart." Now Frost's original Republican sympathies would support work, even workers, whom Corporate America glories in laying off or replacing with robots, whereas arguably the managers could most benefit by robotic, computer-feedback, replacement. But I have not heard of a manager making the tough decision to replace him/her-self. By the way, I have dozens of Butterfly Weed plants in my backyard beyond the mowed part of the field, where it won't grow--takes a month, peaks near July 4 here in SE Massachusetts. For a picture, see my Parodies Lost FB page.

  8. 5 out of 5

    Katherine Elizabeth

    Lovely poems! Frost isn't a "favorite" poet of mine, but he's definitely memorable and brilliant.

  9. 5 out of 5

    Jody

    I think it's this version I have an old copy of this book. My grandma gave it to me for Christmas many years ago. I love Robert Frost. He's my first favorite poet and my favorite poem will always be The Road Not Taken. "And I, I took the road less traveled by and that has made all the difference." RF is my reason for loving words I think.

  10. 4 out of 5

    Markus

    I had read some of his poems, like "Mending the wall" and "the snowstorm", but not all of them, until now. I had not realised how great and famous Frost was in his lifetime. Now I understand better. I just love and admire his farmland poetry, it reminds me of so many things of my own young life in the countryside (in Austria though). And then he enchants with his deep human knowledge, amorous, grumpy, hopeful or disappointed. He sings of trees and flowers and birds and butterflys even ants and I had read some of his poems, like "Mending the wall" and "the snowstorm", but not all of them, until now. I had not realised how great and famous Frost was in his lifetime. Now I understand better. I just love and admire his farmland poetry, it reminds me of so many things of my own young life in the countryside (in Austria though). And then he enchants with his deep human knowledge, amorous, grumpy, hopeful or disappointed. He sings of trees and flowers and birds and butterflys even ants and insects, he knows their songs and sounds, their smell and perfumes, down to the earth, mud and dust. His variety of style keeps you reading wthout relent. Funny, witty, clever, direct and indirect kreepy and ghostly etc. I think that many of his poems could be developed into novels, if written out, there is so much material and potential. This is one of the poetry books I will keep on my bedside table, like Emily Dickinson, Li Po, Kippling,

  11. 5 out of 5

    s.penkevich

    Robert Frost is the Thomas Kinkade of poetry.

  12. 4 out of 5

    Rike Jokanan

    Let me say that he is one of poets who have waken me up from my long sleep in "comfortable bed of uniformity and stagnancy". I used to think that being among the crowd was a safe way to live. Being uniform was my "template". In fact, now I learn that being myself -- that might be being different from you all -- is the safest mode anytime anywhere. And, I am sure that I won't be sorry for being uniquely ordinary as I am. Of course "The Road Not taken" is still a uniform favorite os mine since most Let me say that he is one of poets who have waken me up from my long sleep in "comfortable bed of uniformity and stagnancy". I used to think that being among the crowd was a safe way to live. Being uniform was my "template". In fact, now I learn that being myself -- that might be being different from you all -- is the safest mode anytime anywhere. And, I am sure that I won't be sorry for being uniquely ordinary as I am. Of course "The Road Not taken" is still a uniform favorite os mine since most of Frost's readers take it as their liking. To me Frost is a prodigy for taking his readers into his realm of extraordinary style to present ordinary ideas. Let me share with you 3 of his poems that I believe are spellbinding. The Road Not Taken by: Robert Frost (1874-1963) 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; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. *** Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. *** 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.

  13. 4 out of 5

    Amy

    Robert Frost has the most beautiful poetry! My dad used to read to me from this book every night before bed and it has been a fovorite ever since. When I was little my favorite one was The pasture. Now I love "Reluctance" OUT through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and descended; I have come by the highway home, 5 And lo, it is ended. The leaves are all dead on the ground, Save those that the oak is Robert Frost has the most beautiful poetry! My dad used to read to me from this book every night before bed and it has been a fovorite ever since. When I was little my favorite one was The pasture. Now I love "Reluctance" OUT through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and descended; I have come by the highway home, 5 And lo, it is ended. The leaves are all dead on the ground, Save those that the oak is keeping To ravel them one by one And let them go scraping and creeping 10 Out over the crusted snow, When others are sleeping. And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, No longer blown hither and thither; The last lone aster is gone; 15 The flowers of the witch-hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question ‘Whither?’ Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason 20 To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?

  14. 4 out of 5

    Elizabeth

    Oh, if there were only the words to express how I feel about Frost. There aren't the right words nor near enough. However, I do enjoy reading his poems. They buoy me. I am usually a lover of short poems, yet, even in his longer poems a line or two will reverberate. Most will recommend "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening", "The Road Not Taken" or "Nothing Gold Can Stay". There are reasons why they would recommend these poems, as they have merit. Yet, these are not the only poems worth their Oh, if there were only the words to express how I feel about Frost. There aren't the right words nor near enough. However, I do enjoy reading his poems. They buoy me. I am usually a lover of short poems, yet, even in his longer poems a line or two will reverberate. Most will recommend "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening", "The Road Not Taken" or "Nothing Gold Can Stay". There are reasons why they would recommend these poems, as they have merit. Yet, these are not the only poems worth their keep. I recommend reading "Reluctance", "Into My Own", "Tree At My Window", "Wild Grapes" and "Devotion". I may yet live, as I know others live, To wish in vain to let go with the mind - Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me That I need learn to let go with the heart. from "Wild Grapes"

  15. 5 out of 5

    Charles

    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 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.

  16. 4 out of 5

    Rowena

    I was impressed by the wide range of topics Frost wrote poems about. Some of the poems read like short stories; one of them had a Poe feel to it. In all honesty, I bought this poetry collection solely for The Road Not Taken, but there were quite a lot of good poems in this one.

  17. 5 out of 5

    Leila

    If you like poetry don't miss this!

  18. 5 out of 5

    Rita

    I'm on a voyage of discovery, trying to get back to my love of poetry. I used to love Robert Frost but he no longer speaks to me except for a few of his poems. So I guess my voyage continues.

  19. 4 out of 5

    Leila

    This book was bought in error and is not the complete works of Robert Frost, just a selection.

  20. 4 out of 5

    Edward

    --The Pasture A Boy's Will --Into My Own --Ghost House --My November Guest --Love and a Question --A Late Walk --Stars --Storm Fear --Wind and Window Flower --To the Thawing Wind --A Prayer in Spring --Flower-Gathering --Rose Pogonias --Waiting --In a Vale --A Dream Pang --In Neglect --The Vantage Point --Mowing --Going for Water --Revelation --The Trial by Existence --The Tuft of Flowers --Pan with Us --The Demiurge's Laugh --Now Close the Windows --In Hardwood Groves --A Line-Storm Song --October --My Butterfly --Reluctance --The Pasture A Boy's Will --Into My Own --Ghost House --My November Guest --Love and a Question --A Late Walk --Stars --Storm Fear --Wind and Window Flower --To the Thawing Wind --A Prayer in Spring --Flower-Gathering --Rose Pogonias --Waiting --In a Vale --A Dream Pang --In Neglect --The Vantage Point --Mowing --Going for Water --Revelation --The Trial by Existence --The Tuft of Flowers --Pan with Us --The Demiurge's Laugh --Now Close the Windows --In Hardwood Groves --A Line-Storm Song --October --My Butterfly --Reluctance North of Boston --Mending Wall --The Death of the Hired Man --The Mountain --A Hundred Collars --Home Burial --The Black Cottage --Blueberries --A Servant to Servants --After Apple-Picking --The Code --The Generations of Men --The Housekeeper --The Fear --The Self-Seeker --The Wood-Pile --Good Hours Mountain Interval --The Road Not Taken --Christmas Trees --An Old Man's Winter Night --The Exposed Nest --A Patch of Old Snow --In the Home Stretch --The Telephone --Meeting and Passing --Hyla Brook --The Oven Bird --Bond and Free --Birches --Pea Brush --Putting in the Seed --A Time to Talk --The Cow in Apple Time --An Encounter --Range-Finding The Hill Wife: --I. Loneliness --II. House Fear --III. The Smile --IV. The Oft-Repeated Dream --V. The Impulse --The Bonfire --A Girl's Garden --Locked Out --The Last Word of a Bluebird --"Out, Out---" --Brown's Descent --The Gum-Gatherer --The Line-Gang --The Vanishing Red --Snow --The Sound of Trees New Hampshire --New Hampshire --A Star in a Stoneboat --The Census-Taker --The Star-Splitter --Maple --The Ax-Helve --The Grindstone --Paul's Wife --Wild Grapes --Place for a Third Two Witches: --I. The Witch of Coös --II. The Pauper Witch of Grafton --An Empty Threat --A Fountain, a Bottle, a Donkey's Ears, and Some Books --I Will Sing You One-O --Fragmentary Blue --Fire and Ice --In a Disused Graveyard --Dust of Snow --To E. T. --Nothing Gold Can Stay --The Runaway --The Aim Was Song --Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening --For Once, Then, Something --Blue-Butterfly Day --The Onset --To Earthward --Good-by and Keep Cold --Two Look at Two --Not to Keep --A Brook in the City --The Kitchen Chimney --Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter --A Boundless Moment --Evening in a Sugar Orchard --Gathering Leaves --The Valley's Singing Day --Misgiving --A Hillside Thaw --Plowmen --On a Tree Fallen Across the Road --Our Singing Strength --The Lockless Door --The Need of Being Versed in Country Things West-Running Brook --Spring Pools --The Freedom of the Moon --The Rose Family --Fireflies in the Garden --Atmosphere --Devotion --On Going Unnoticed --The Cocoon --A Passing Glimpse --A Peck of Gold --Acceptance --Once by the Pacific --Lodged --A Minor Bird --Bereft --Tree at My Window --The Peaceful Shepherd --The Thatch --A Winter Eden --The Flood --Acquainted with the Night --The Lovely Shall Be Choosers --West-Running Brook --Sand Dunes --Canis Major --A Soldier --Immigrants --Hannibal --The Flower Boat --The Times Table --The Investment --The Last Mowing --The Birthplace --The Door in the Dark --Dust in the Eyes --Sitting by a Bush in Broad Sunlight --The Armful --What Fifty Said --Riders --On Looking Up by Chance at the Constellations --The Bear --The Egg and the Machine A Further Range --A Lone Striker --Two Tramps in Mud Time --The White-Tailed Hornet --A Blue Ribbon at Amesbury --A Drumlin Woodchuck --The Gold Hesperidee --In Time of Cloudburst --A Roadside Stand --Departmental --The Old Barn at the Bottom of the Fogs --On the Heart's Beginning to Cloud the Mind --The Figure in the Doorway --At Woodward's Gardens --A Record Stride --Lost in Heaven --Desert Places --Leaves Compared with Flowers --A Leaf-Treader --On Taking from the Top to Broaden the Base --They Were Welcome to Their Belief --The Strong Are Saying Nothing --The Master Speed --Moon Compasses --Neither Out Far nor In Deep --Voice Ways --Design --On a Bird Singing in Its Sleep --Afterflakes --Clear and Colder --Unharvested --There Are Roughly Zones --A Trial Run --Not Quite Social --Provide, Provide Ten Mills: --I. Precaution --II. The Span of Life --III. The Wrights' Biplane --IV. Evil Tendencies Cancel --V. Pertinax --VI. Waspish --VII. One Guess --VIII. The Hardship of Accounting --IX. Not All There --X. In Divés' Dive --The Vindictives --The Bearer of Evil Tidings --Iris by Night --Build Soil --To a Thinker --A Missive Missile A Witness Tree --Beech --Sycamore --The Silken Tent --All Revelation --Happiness Makes Up in Height for What It Lacks in Length --Come In --I Could Give All to Time --Carpe Diem --The Wind and the Rain --The Most of It --Never Again Would Birds' Song Be the Same --The Subverted Flower --Willful Homing --A Cloud Shadow --The Quest of the Purple-Fringed --The Discovery of the Madeiras --The Gift Outright --Triple Bronze --Our Hold on the Planet --To a Young Wretch --The Lesson for Today --Time Out --To a Moth Seen in Winter --A Considerable Speck --The Lost Follower --November --The Rabbit-Hunter --A Loose Mountain --It Is Almost the Year Two Thousand --In a Poem --On Our Sympathy with the Under Dog --A Question --Boeotian --The Secret Sits --An Equalizer --A Semi-Revolution --Assurance --An Answer --Trespass --A Nature Note --Of the Stones of the Place --Not of School Age --A Serious Step Lightly Taken --The Literate Farmer and the Planet Venus Steeple Bush --A Young Birch --Something for Hope --One Step Backward Taken --Directive --Too Anxious for Rivers --An Unstamped Letter in Our Rural Letter Box --To an Ancient Five Nocturnes: --I. The Night Light --II. Were I in Trouble --III. Bravado --IV. On Making Certain Anything Has Happened --V. In the Long Night --A Mood Apart --The Fear of God --The Fear of Man --A Steeple on the House --Innate Helium --The Courage to Be New --Iota Subscript --The Middleness of the Road --Astrometaphysical --Skeptic --Two Leading Lights --A Rogers Group --On Being Idolized --A Wish to Comply --A Cliff Dwelling --It Bids Pretty Fair --Beyond Words --A Case for Jefferson --Lucretius versus the Lake Poets --Haec Fabula Docet --Etherealizing --Why Wait for Science --Any Size We Please --An Importer --The Planners --No Holy Wars for Them --Bursting Rapture --U. S. 1946 King's X --The Ingenuities of Debt --The Broken Drought --To the Right Person "An Afterword" from Complete Poems --Take Something Like a Star --From Plane to Plane In The Clearing --Pod of the Milkweed --Away! --A Cabin in the Clearing --Closed for Good --America Is Hard to See --One More Brevity --Escapist---Never --For John F. Kennedy His Inauguration --Accidentally on Purpose --A Never Naught Song --Version --A Concept Self-Conceived --[Forgive, O Lord ...] --Kitty Hawk --Auspex --The Draft Horse --Ends --Peril of Hope --Questioning Faces --Does No One at All Ever Feel This Way in the Least? --The Bad Island---Easter --Our Doom to Bloom --The Objection to Being Stepped On --A-Wishing Well --How Hard It Is to Keep from Being King When It's in You and in the Situation --Lines Written in Dejection on the Eve of Great Success --The Milky Way Is a Cowpath --Some Science Fiction --Quandary --A Reflex --In a Glass of Cider --From Iron --[Four-Room Shack ...] --[But Outer Space ...] --On Being Chosen Poet of Vermont --[We Vainly Wrestle ...] --[It Takes All Sorts ...] --[In Winter in the Woods ...] --A Masque Of Reason --A Masque Of Mercy Editor's Statement Notes Index of First Lines & Titles

  21. 5 out of 5

    Leona Carstairs

    Yay, I did manage to finish it this weekend. I feel so accomplished. =) Okay fine, I didn't 100% finish it. I skipped those two 20 page poems that were like about bible people?? And completely dialogue?? Bc let's face it, what? Why would I care about that? But it does count as "read" ok, IT COUNTS. I read 95% of it, hell yes it counts. Overall I fucking hated the poems that were like 13 pages long. I couldn't stand them! But the shorter poems were really beautiful, but THE LONG ONES JUST KIND OF Yay, I did manage to finish it this weekend. I feel so accomplished. =) Okay fine, I didn't 100% finish it. I skipped those two 20 page poems that were like about bible people?? And completely dialogue?? Bc let's face it, what? Why would I care about that? But it does count as "read" ok, IT COUNTS. I read 95% of it, hell yes it counts. Overall I fucking hated the poems that were like 13 pages long. I couldn't stand them! But the shorter poems were really beautiful, but THE LONG ONES JUST KIND OF RUINED MY EXPERIENCE A BIT. But also the short ones were nice and pretty and well done, so I have sort of kind of maybe mixed feelings.

  22. 4 out of 5

    Nick

    He expertly articulates and captures those feelings inspired in us as children. Wonderment and Beauty, Innocence, and Joyfulness, but also and equally, Loneliness Isolation and Desperation. Wisdom and Naivety. Reading Frost is like traveling across New England With two people. The First incarnation a small enthusiastic and expressive child awe struck by the simple beauty of the landscape and changing seasons as he passes them by yearning to run ahead and spy what lay beyond the next bend. The He expertly articulates and captures those feelings inspired in us as children. Wonderment and Beauty, Innocence, and Joyfulness, but also and equally, Loneliness Isolation and Desperation. Wisdom and Naivety. Reading Frost is like traveling across New England With two people. The First incarnation a small enthusiastic and expressive child awe struck by the simple beauty of the landscape and changing seasons as he passes them by yearning to run ahead and spy what lay beyond the next bend. The Second, a wiser and well traveled grandfatherly type, Who knows better than to openly advise against taking the short cut,though in a round about way counsels against the idea; lest we miss the point of the taking the back roads in the first place. (If the above was confusing I apologize. Its late and Im trying to pay homage my favorite philosopher/poet. I find Its like trying to explain why water tastes good when you've just crossed the Sahara. It should be obvious to all, but then what if the person has no idea what the Sahara IS?

  23. 5 out of 5

    Jon Corelis

    A fundamental poetry book There's not much that needs to be said about the poetry of Robert Frost, except that, unlike most things in life, it's as good as it's supposed to be. If you are just getting into poetry, Frost is especially to be recommended: many readers will find his poems more immediately accessible than those of many modern poets. The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged edited by Edward Connery Lathem is the standard collection, and I think it should A fundamental poetry book There's not much that needs to be said about the poetry of Robert Frost, except that, unlike most things in life, it's as good as it's supposed to be. If you are just getting into poetry, Frost is especially to be recommended: many readers will find his poems more immediately accessible than those of many modern poets. The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged edited by Edward Connery Lathem is the standard collection, and I think it should be on the shelf of anyone who has any poetry books at all. I recommend getting the hard cover: the paperback version usually seems to be almost as expensive. There are also some Selected Poems editions, but again, these seem almost as expensive as this Collected, so you might as well just get this.

  24. 4 out of 5

    Timothy Muller

    It may seem strange to allot only four stars to such a great poet. However, for me, there are (more or less) two Frosts. Actually, there are three Frosts, but the third is not a very important consideration. To take the third first, this is the Frost of lighter, often satirical poetry, as in, for example “A Case for Jefferson.” This kind of verse is not really Frost’s strong suit and I think his reputation might rest a little higher had he not published it. However, virtually all poets publish It may seem strange to allot only four stars to such a great poet. However, for me, there are (more or less) two Frosts. Actually, there are three Frosts, but the third is not a very important consideration. To take the third first, this is the Frost of lighter, often satirical poetry, as in, for example “A Case for Jefferson.” This kind of verse is not really Frost’s strong suit and I think his reputation might rest a little higher had he not published it. However, virtually all poets publish material not quite worthy of them and few readers hold that against them. More typically though, Frost has two modes of writing: 1) rhymed verse with tauter rhythms, and 2) the generally much looser blank verse. I often like the first very much; indeed consider the best of his lyrics to be among the finest lyrical poetry in the language. There are very few poets to have written so many lyrics of such high quality. For the second mode, the blank verse (usually, not always) I can find very little affection. It is important to note that in the first type (the rhymed verse as a opposed to the looser blank verse) is often symbolic, using harvest, night, sea, woodland paths, and other symbols to suggest larger (if vaguer) meaning. The blank verse is often quite literal. Poems like “Death of a Hired Hand” or “Home Burial” read more like short stories than poetry. And the blank verse lines, drifting so often from the strict iambic pentameter, lines do not gather energy. Blank verse is a very difficult medium for poetry in English. One must be extremely gifted to use it. Only Shakespeare’s and Tennyson’s really work for me, and these are two of the very best at handling the English language. Frost (along with Wordsworth e.g.) fails to bring it to life for me. To illustrate, I will contrast two poems - “Home Burial” and “Acquainted with the Night.” Both are very dark poems. First “Home Burial:” The poem involves the misunderstandings between a husband and wife following the death and burial (by the husband) of their child. I think that we have to admit that we are involved with two pretty dense people. The emotion is not nuanced; it is raw and even simplistic. Take the following where the husband finally realizes that his child’s burial mound can be seen from a window at which his wife has been seen looking out numerous times: “‘The wonder is I didn’t see at once. I never noticed it from here before. I must be wonted to it—that’s the reason. The little graveyard where my people are! So small the window frames the whole of it.”’ A husband who does not know that his child’s grave can be seen from one of the home’s windows is not credible - it really isn’t; the wife’s apprehension of things is hardly better: “‘I can repeat the very words you were saying: “Three foggy mornings and one rainy day Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.” Think of it, talk like that at such a time! What had how long it takes a birch to rot To do with what was in the darkened parlor? You couldn’t care!’” She cannot understand that the unfortunate and pressing business of life goes on, that we cannot, in the normal course of events, stop to give things, including grief, their proper due. This is little more believable than her husbands obtuseness. Painful and absurd as this seems, intelligent women understand it. Nor can she grasp that the husband’s mourning goes on at a different level from her own. And the situation is too specific. Unless own happens to have had the same experience, we tend to remain uninvolved; we are placed in an uncomfortable voyeuristic position. I cannot but feel that this is closer to soap opera than poetry. In addition, the lines in “Home Burial” so often deviate from the normative iambic pentameter that in my perception it is really not poetry at all. And when the meter returns to the strict iambic pentameter, is often feels forced and sometimes awkward. Frost is sometimes credited with having broken down the meter as a sort of analogy to the breaking down of the communication of husband and wife; but if the crumbling of communication means crumbling of prosody, then what we have is prose. On the other hand “Acquainted with the Night” is a true work of art and a poem to which almost anyone can relate because it is communicated symbolically. There are none but the very fortunate and the self deluding sentimentalist who are not acquainted with the “night.” Here are the last three stanzas of the poem: “I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.” The “night” is almost psychotically bleak. A cry is heard from streets away - is it real or an hallucination? in any case it’s terrifyingly hostile. The clock, normatively a helpful product of a coherent society is of no use; instead it is apparently a sinister, glaring eye. Any yet (and I consider this very important) the rhyme and controlled meter stand for coherence and meaning in which even the darkest place has a context, has a place in the scheme of things. There is a reason for the expression “neither rhyme nor reason.” Here we have rhyme (and more generally a prosody) which functions as a stand-in for reason, which however unavailable in the midst of the torment, is nevertheless insisted upon (albeit indirectly) by the poet. This is something poetry can do, that is, placing life’s varied and confusing events in some sort of context; indeed, it is one of its major functions, and Frost does it very well. The symbolic, as opposed to literal, representation allows for reverberating meaning and multiple context. To take one more brief example of what Frost does so well - from “A Prayer in Spring:” “Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year.” How simple and unassuming is the verse at a literal level; yet how rich, replete with meaning, hopeful and ominous at once.

  25. 5 out of 5

    Asha Seth

    An anthology of Frost's best poems. My favorite among all: In A Disused Graveyard The living come with grassy tread To read the gravestones on the hill; The graveyard draws the living still, But never anymore the dead. The verses in it say and say: “The ones who living come today To read the stones and go away Tomorrow dead will come to stay.” So sure of death the marbles rhyme, Yet can’t help marking all the time How no one dead will seem to come. What is it men are shrinking from? It would be easy to be An anthology of Frost's best poems. My favorite among all: In A Disused Graveyard The living come with grassy tread To read the gravestones on the hill; The graveyard draws the living still, But never anymore the dead. The verses in it say and say: “The ones who living come today To read the stones and go away Tomorrow dead will come to stay.” So sure of death the marbles rhyme, Yet can’t help marking all the time How no one dead will seem to come. What is it men are shrinking from? It would be easy to be clever And tell the stones: Men hate to die And have stopped dying now forever. I think they would believe the lie.

  26. 5 out of 5

    LJ

    I've loved Frost's poems for years. "Birches," "A Road Not Taken," a version of which I've sung, "Time to Talk," are just a few of my favorites.

  27. 4 out of 5

    Aberdeen

    Highly recommended: reading through a whole book of one poet's work. If that sounds daunting, let me assure you: This book, which isn't even a complete collection of Frost's poems, took me eight months to get through. I read when I felt like it, sometimes several poems in a sitting, sometimes just one before bed. Whole weeks went by when I wasn't in a poem-y mood. At first it was really hard to sit down and just read a poem but after a while, even though it still took concentration, it felt more Highly recommended: reading through a whole book of one poet's work. If that sounds daunting, let me assure you: This book, which isn't even a complete collection of Frost's poems, took me eight months to get through. I read when I felt like it, sometimes several poems in a sitting, sometimes just one before bed. Whole weeks went by when I wasn't in a poem-y mood. At first it was really hard to sit down and just read a poem but after a while, even though it still took concentration, it felt more like coming home. It got easier to adjust to poetry-reading mode. I feel like Frost is a friend now. I don't want to be presumptuous or pretend I grasped more than a small bit of what he was trying to say and how he did so. But it's cool to start recognizing his style, the way he tends to describe things, and the things he tends to notice. It's like reading his journal. The coolest thing was to start to see things the way he did, to find myself looking at something in nature or observing a conversation and thinking that it sounds or looks like something he'd write a poem about. I don't think you can begin to get to the heart of a poet without reading a large quantity of their work. And I think reading a lot of one person's poetry shows you what it means to be a poet in general—read the famous poems and the unknown ones, the ones he wrote when young and when old, the long and the short, the "typical for him" and the experimental. It's good for me as a poet to get a glimpse of what the journey of a poet looks like. (Also I am WORDY and Frost is NOT so yeah I'll take all the help I can get.) Also I just love his poetry. He's one of my faves. So read him even if you aren't a poet. =) If you're interested, here are the poems I marked as ones that stuck out the most: The Tuft of Flowers The Bearer of Evil Tidings Birches To a Young Wretch The Star-Splitter (this one!!) The Oft-Repeated Dream A Line-Storm Song The Death of the Hired Man A Patch of Old Snow Evening in a Sugar Orchard For Once, Then, Something A Minor Bird Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter Two Look at Two Nothing Gold Can Stay A Hillside Thaw My November Guest I Will Sing You One-O To Earthward Last One Char The Gift Outright Acquainted with The Night (<--I've memorized this one, so come by someday and I'll recite it to you) The Telephone

  28. 5 out of 5

    James

    It is something of a paradox that Frost, our most well-known poet, is also our most underrated poet. His over-familiarity has given a false image of him; people think he wrote Hallmark cards. Reading his poetry closely is a fascinating education. He is one of the darkest, most illusive American writers in some moods; in others, he is cynical and enigmatic. If you appreciate poetry, read Frost. If all you know is "The Road Not Taken" and you think Frost is an artless hack writing verse to be It is something of a paradox that Frost, our most well-known poet, is also our most underrated poet. His over-familiarity has given a false image of him; people think he wrote Hallmark cards. Reading his poetry closely is a fascinating education. He is one of the darkest, most illusive American writers in some moods; in others, he is cynical and enigmatic. If you appreciate poetry, read Frost. If all you know is "The Road Not Taken" and you think Frost is an artless hack writing verse to be framed on the walls of middlebrow homes, read his collected works (and read that particular poem closely). He is the American author who, despite his ubiquity, deserves the most reassessment.

  29. 4 out of 5

    Agnieszka

    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.

  30. 4 out of 5

    Illiterate

    Frost grapples with modernist doubts and looming meaninglessness even as he pursues the romantic project of opening poetry to everyday language.

Add a review

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Loading...
We use cookies to give you the best online experience. By using our website you agree to our use of cookies in accordance with our cookie policy.