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Robert Frost

Robert Frost

Ten Mills: Not All There

I turned to speak to God
About the world’s despair;
But to make bad matters worse
I found God wasn’t there.
 
God turned to speak to me
(Don’t anybody laugh)
God found I wasn’t there—
At least not over half.

#AmericanWriters #PulitzerPrize #1936 #AFurtherRange

Other works by Robert Frost...
Two Look at Two

Love and forgetting might have car… A little further up the mountain s… With night so near, but not much f… They must have halted soon in any… With thoughts of a path back, how…
For Once, Then, Something

Others taunt me with having knelt… Always wrong to the light, so neve… Deeper down in the well than where… Gives me back in a shining surface… Me myself in the summer heaven god…
 1
God’s Garden

God made a beatous garden With lovely flowers strown, But one straight, narrow pathway That was not overgrown. And to this beauteous garden
After Apple-Picking

My long two-pointed ladder’s stick… Toward heaven still, And there’s a barrel that I didn’… Beside it, and there may be two or… Apples I didn’t pick upon some bo…
Quantula: An Equalizer

It is as true as Caesar’s name wa… That no economist was ever wiser (Though prodigal himself and a des… Of capital and calling thrift a mi… And when we get too far apart in w…
One Or Two: Wilful Homing

It is getting dark and time he dre… But the blizzard blinds him to any… The storm gets down his neck in an… That sucks his breath like a wicke… The snow blows on him and off him,…
Hugo Erfurth with dog, by Otto Dix
Ten Mills: The Span of Life

The old dog barks backwards withou… I can remember when he was a pup.
 2
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
Winter Landscape, by Valerius de Saedeleer
Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter

The west was getting out of gold, The breath of air had died of cold… When shoeing home across the white… I thought I saw a bird alight. In summer when I passed the place
 3
Poetry is...

Poetry is when an emotion has foun…
The storm, by Walter Withers
Storm Fear

When the wind works against us in… And pelts with snow The lowest chamber window on the e… And whispers with a sort of stifle… The beast,
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…
Nothing Gold Can Stay

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.
 10
Quandary

Never have I been glad or sad That there was such a thing as bad… There had to be, I understood, For there to have been any good. It was by having been contrasted
Over Back: Not Of School Age

Around bend after bend, It was blown woods and no end. I came to but one house I made but the one friend. At the one house a child was out



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