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Robert Frost

Robert Frost

A Patch of Old Snow

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.

#Americans #PulitzerPrize #1916 #MountainInterval

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Altre opere di Robert Frost...
One Or Two: The Wind And The Rain

That far-off day the leaves in fli… Were letting in the colder light. A season-ending wind there blew That as it did the forest strew I leaned on with a singing trust
A Winter Eden

A winter garden in an alder swamp, Where conies now come out to sun a… As near a paradise as it can be And not melt snow or start a dorma… It lifts existence on a plane of s…
Regatta at Sainte-Adresse, by Claude Monet
Taken Singly: Neither Out Far Nor in Deep

The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to pass
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A Line

The line-storm clouds fly tattered… The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones… And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for…
Thaw on the Way, by Julius von Klever
Taken Singly: There Are Roughly Zones

We sit indoors and talk of the col… And every gust that gathers streng… Is a threat to the house. But the… We think of the tree. If it never… We’ll know, we say, that this was…
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The Cocoon

As far as I can see this autumn h… That spreading in the evening air… Makes the new moon look anything b… And pours the elm-tree meadow full… Is all the smoke from one poor hou…
October

O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fal… To—morrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call;
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Devotion

The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to ocean— Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.
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Taken Singly: Not Quite Social

Some of you will be glad I did wh… And the rest won’t want to punish… For finding a thing to do that tho… Yet wasn’t enjoined and wasn’t exp… To punish me over cruelly wouldn’t…
The Bonfire

“OH, let’s go up the hill and sca… As reckless as the best of them to… By setting fire to all the brush w… With pitchy hands to wait for rain… Oh, let’s not wait for rain to mak…
One Or Two: The Subverted Flower

She drew back; he was calm: “It is this that had the power.” And he lashed his open palm With the tender-headed flower. He smiled for her to smile,
A Hillside Thaw

To think to know the country and n… The hillside on the day the sun le… Ten million silver lizards out of… As often as I’ve seen it done bef… I can’t pretend to tell the way it…
Fragmentary Blue

Why make so much of fragmentary bl… In here and there a bird, or butte… Or flower, or wearing—stone, or op… When heaven presents in sheets the… Since earth is earth, perhaps, not…
The Armful

For every parcel I stoop down to… I lose some other off my arms and… And the whole pile is slipping, bo… Extremes too hard to comprehend at… Yet nothing I should care to leav…
Pea Brush

I WALKED down alone Sunday aft… To the place where John has been… To see for myself about the birch He said I could have to bush my p… The sun in the new-cut narrow gap



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