American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Colloquial Speech · Compilation · Modernism · Poetry · Traditionalism

Robert Frost

Hyla Brook By June our brook’s run out of song and speed. Sought for much after that, it will be found Either to have gone groping underground (And taken with it all the Hyla breed That shouted in the mist a month ago, Like ghost of sleigh bells in a ghost of snow)— Or flourished… Continue reading Robert Frost

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American Culture · American Literature · Colloquial Speech · Magazine · Modernism · Poetry · Traditionalism

Robert Frost

Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue? Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)— Though some savants make earth include the sky; And blue so far above us comes so… Continue reading Robert Frost

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Colloquial Speech · Compilation · Modernism · Poetry · Traditionalism

Robert Frost

My November Guest My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,     Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree;     She walked the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay.     She talks and I am fain to list: She’s… Continue reading Robert Frost

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American Culture · American Literature · Americana · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Colloquial Speech · Compilation · Modernism · Poetry · Traditionalism

Robert Frost

  Reluctance Out through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and descended; I have come by the highway home, And lo, it is ended. The leaves are all dead on the ground, Save those that the oak… Continue reading Robert Frost

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American Culture · American Literature · Americana · Classic · Colloquial Speech · Magazine · Modernism · Periodical · Poetry · Traditionalism

Robert Frost

Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue? Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)— Though some savants make earth include the sky; And blue so far above us comes so… Continue reading Robert Frost

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