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Robert Frost

Robert Frost

Pan With Us

Pan came out of the woods one day,—His skin and his hair and his eyes were gray, The gray of the moss of walls were they,—  And stood in the sun and looked his fill   At wooded valley and wooded hill.

#Americans #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury #1913 #ABoy'sWill

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Autres oeuvres par Robert Frost...
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…
 3
The Vantage Point

If tires of trees I seek again mankind, Well I know where to hie me—in the dawn, To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn. There amid loggin juniper reclined, Myself unseen, I see in w...
One Or Two: A Cloud Shadow

A breeze discovered my open book And began to flutter the leaves to… For a poem there used to be on Sp… I tried to tell her “There’s no s… For whom would a poem on Spring b…
In White

A dented spider like a snow drop w… On a white Heal-all, holding up a… Like a white piece of lifeless sat… Saw ever curious eye so strange a… Portent in little, assorted death…
One Or Two: The Quest Of The Purple-Fringed

I felt the chill of the meadow und… But the sun overhead; And snatches of verse and song of… I sung or said. I skirted the margin alders for mi…
A Patch of Old Snow

There’s a patch of old snow in a c… That I should have guessed Was a blow—away paper the rain Had brought to rest. It is speckled with grime as if
 3
Taken Doubly: A Blue Ribbon At Amesbury

Such a fine pullet ought to go All coiffured to a winter show, And be exhibited, and win. The answer is this one has been— And come with all her honors home.
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;
 2
Waiting Afield at Dusk

What things for dream there are wh… Moving amond tall haycocks lightly… I enter alone upon the stubbled fi… From which the laborers’ voices la… And in the antiphony of afterglow
Afterthought: A Missive Missile

Some one in ancient Mas d’Azil Once took a little pebble wheel And dotted it with red for me, And sent it to me years and years— A million years to be precise—
Quantula: Boeotian

I love to toy with the Platonic n… That wisdom need not be of Athens… But well may be Laconic, even Boe… At least I will not have it syste…
One Or Two: The Discovery Of The Madeiras

A stolen lady was coming on board, But whether stolen from her wedded… Or from her own self against her w… Was not set forth in the lading bi… A stolen lady was all it said.
Range-Finding

The battle rent a cobweb diamond—s… And cut a flower beside a ground b… Before it stained a single human b… The stricken flower bent double an… And still the bird revisited her y…
The Aim Was Song

Before man to blow to right The wind once blew itself untaught… And did its loudest day and night In any rough place where it caught… Man came to tell it what was wrong…
 1
Diogenes at Night in Studio Window, by Robert Lenkiewicz
Bereft

Where had I heard this wind befor… Change like this to a deeper roar? What would it take my standing the… Holding open a restive door, Looking down hill to a frothy shor…



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