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Robert Frost

Robert Frost

Ten Mills: The Wrights’ Biplane

This biplane is the shape of human flight.
Its name might better be First Motor Kite.
Its makers’ name—Time cannot get that wrong,
For it was writ in heaven doubly Wright.

#Americans #PulitzerPrize #1936 #AFurtherRange

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Other works by Robert Frost...
The Door in the Dark

In going from room to room in the… I reached out blindly to save my f… But neglected, however lightly, to… My fingers and close my arms in an… A slim door got in past my guard,
The Death of the Hired Man

Mary sat musing on the lamp—flame… Waiting for Warren. When she hear… She ran on tip—toe down the darken… To meet him in the doorway with th… And put him on his guard. “Silas…
 1
Once by the Pacific

The shattered water made a misty d… Great waves looked over others com… And thought of doing something to… That water never did to land befor… The clouds were low and hairy in t…
Locked Out

When we locked up the house at nig… We always locked the flowers outsi… And cut them off from window light… The time I dreamed the door was t… And brushed with buttons upon slee…
Taken Doubly: In Time Of Cloudburst

Let the downpour roil and toil! The worst it can do to me Is carry some garden soil A little nearer the sea. ’Tis the world-old way of the rain
A Line-storm Song

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…
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…
Flower-gathering

I left you in the morning, And in the morning glow, You walked a way beside me To make me sad to go. Do you know me in the gloaming,
 1
Søndermarken Park in winter, by Vilhelm Hammershøi
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I k… His house is in the village, thoug… He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with sn… My little horse must think it quee…
 22
Wild Grapes

What tree may not the fig be gathe… The grape may not be gathered from… It’s all you know the grape, or kn… As a girl gathered from the birch… Equally with my weight in grapes,…
Devotion

The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to ocean— Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.
 3
The Forest in Winter at Sunset, by Théodore Rousseau
An Old Man’s Winter Night

All out-of-doors looked darkly in… Through the thin frost, almost in… That gathers on the pane in empty… What kept his eyes from giving bac… Was the lamp tilted near them in h…
 1
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…
One Or Two: Come In

As I came to the edge of the wood… Thrush music—hark! Now if it was dusk outside, Inside it was dark. Too dark in the woods for a bird
A Peck of Gold

Dust always blowing about the town… Except when sea—fog laid it down, And I was one of the children tol… Some of the blowing dust was gold. All the dust the wind blew high



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