Acquainted With The Night
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.
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.
References
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.
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.
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
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;
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
Wow! I like it! It is wonderful. I like nature and science. It's very interesting.