Robert Frost

1874-1963 / Male / American
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningWhose woods these are I think I know. / His house is in the village, though; / He will not see me stopping here
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The Rose FamilyThe rose is a rose, / And was always a rose. / But the theory now goes
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Evening In A Sugar OrchardFrom where I lingered in a lull in march / outside the sugar-house one night for choice, / I called the fireman with a careful voice
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The Road Not TakenTwo roads diverged in a yellow wood, / And sorry I could not travel both / And be one traveler, long I stood
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DirectiveBack out of all this now too much for us, / Back in a time made simple by the loss / Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off
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Nothing Gold Can StayNature’s first green is gold, / Her hardest hue to hold. / Her early leaf’s a flower;
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But Outer SpaceBut outer Space, / At least this far, / For all the fuss
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DevotionThe heart can think of no devotion / Greater than being shore to the ocean— / Holding the curve of one position,
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The Black CottageWe chanced in passing by that afternoon / To catch it in a sort of special picture / Among tar-banded ancient cherry trees,
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Fire And IceSome say the world will end in fire, / Some say in ice. / From what I’ve tasted of desire
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