Robert Frost

[AnthonyGiarrusso]

Has anybody ever read Robert Frost poetry? I lived in New Hampshire at the time an I think it was Robert's son or grandson who came in to read them to us. For some reason I remember him saying he was 56. This was like 20 years ago.

 

[Wu Wei]

I read a lot of Robert Frost, I grew up in New England, and I am hoping to retire back to New Hampshire. My favorite has always been THe Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken​

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.

 

[AnthonyGiarrusso]

What I remember being told, Robert was sitting in traffic and went a different way to get home. Then he wrote this poem.

 

[Dan From Smithville]

Has anybody ever read Robert Frost poetry? I lived in New Hampshire at the time an I think it was Robert's son or grandson who came in to read them to us. For some reason I remember him saying he was 56. This was like 20 years ago.

I rather like his poetry.

 

[Mock Turtle]

I like The Road Not Taken and this one too:

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.