Robert Frost “Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper”—Robert Frost

Biography Named one of the best 20 th century Pastoral Poets. Was awarded the Pulitzer Prize four times for the poems: New Hampshire(1929), Collected poems(1930), Further Range(1936), Witness Tree(1942). Born in San Francisco, California, March 26, Married old schoolmate Ellinor White and had six children. Studied at Harvard but from 1897 to 1899 but left without a degree. Moved family to England in 1912 and published his first collection of poems containing some of his most well known poems: Mending Wall, Death of the Hired Man, Home Burial, After Apple Picking, The Wood Pile. Moved back to the U.S. and in 1916 he became a member of National Institute of Arts and Letter. Published third collection of poems in 1916 “Mountain Interval”. Had poems: The Road Not Taken, Birches, The Hill Wife recited two poems at the auguration of President John Kennedy Traveled to Soviet Union in 1962 as a goodwill group. Died in Jan 29, 1963.

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. --Robert Frost

Mending Wall Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbour know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the boulders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: "Stay where you are until our backs are turned!" We wear our fingers rough with handling them. Oh, just another kind of out-door game, One on a side. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours." Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder If I could put a notion in his head: "Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows. Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offence. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him, But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. I see him there Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. He moves in darkness as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees. He will not go behind his father's saying, And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours." --Robert Frost

What I like about Robert Frost’s work Imagery in poems are very similar to sights in everyday. Easy approach to subjects. Not often until the end of the poem does the meaning of the poem strike me. Poems not difficult to follow. Each poem has a hidden metaphor for a moral view on life. Inspires and challenges me to think on what the poem is about without using too many big words and turning me away.

Just Another Day Aye, Yet another day has yet to be Be thankful for the dawn break in between For always I shall treasure the calm before Safety breather, eye perhaps, of the storm The twisting fence weaves a long crooked line Into neglected timothy and wheat All is quiet save the chirping bluebirds With a lingering breath of soft pine scent Nothing shall upset my eye of the storm Always I shall prefer my dawn to sun But inevitably the sun shall rise Aye, yet another day has yet to be

Explaination of Poem Related to nature Uses the same line more than once for effect. Reflective of the imagery Robert Frost describes in his poems. Each line written with 10 syllables

References The Academic American Encyclopedia.(1995). Biography of Robert Frost. Grolier Electronic Publishing. Retrieved 2000 from the World Wide Web; t/ t/ t/ /frost.htm /frost.htm