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Robert Frost

Robert Frost

About Robert Frost

Robert Frost was one of the most celebrated poets of the 1900s. He was an American poet born on March 26, 1874 in San Francisco, California. His father died from tuberculosis when Frost was 11, so his mother moved the rest of the family to Lawrence, Massachusetts. It was during his high school years that Frost became interested in poetry.

Frost never earned a formal college degree even though he attended both Dartmouth College and Harvard University.

His first poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894 in a New York newspaper, and he was paid $15 for it.

That following year he married Elinor Miriam White who was a major inspiration for his poetry. The couple moved to England in 1912 because they were unsuccessful with farming in the states. Frost was also not finding success with his writing, so the couple saw more opportunity in England because of the vast range of publishers. By the time they returned in 1915, Frost had already published two collections of poetry: A Boy's Well (1913) and North of Boston (1914).

Many of Frost's poems were inspired by the landscape and life in New England. A couple of his most famous poems are "The Road Not Taken" (1916) and "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" (1925).

He cofounded the Bread Loaf School of English of Middlebury College, and he spent time teaching at a couple American campuses.

Robert Frost passed away in Boston on January 29, 1963.

Some Interesting Facts About Robert Frost

Frost graduated high school as co-valedictorian with his future wife, Elinor Miriam White.
He delivered a poem at President John F. Kennedy's inauguration. He prepared a special poem for the event, but because the sun was blinding, Frost recited "The Gift Outright" instead. President Kennedy did not want Frost to make a speech because he was so well liked that Kennedy was afraid Frost would inadvertently steal the spotlight.
In 1955 a mountain in Vermont was named after Frost.
He was awarded honorary degrees from more than 40 colleges and universities.
Four out of six of Frost's children died before he did.
The Robert Frost Farm in Derry, New Hampshire is open for tours.
He was considered the unofficial poet laureate.
Robert Frost won four Pulitzer Prizes.

References

Poems by Robert Frost

Acquainted With The Night

in Famous Sad Poems

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.

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.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

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
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Desert Places

in Famous Nature Poems

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it--it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less--
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.

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.
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Nothing Gold Can Stay

in Famous Nature Poems

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.

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.
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My November Guest

in Famous Nature Poems

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;

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.
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Out Out

in Famous Sad Poems

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them “Supper.” At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. “Don’t let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!”
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
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Quotes by Robert Frost

Quote

Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it.

Robert Frost