The Last Mowing – Poem by Robert Frost

There’s a place called Far-away MeadowWe never shall mow in again,Or such is the talk at the farmhouse:The meadow is finished with men.Then now is the chance for the flowersThat can’t stand mowers and plowers.It must be now, through, in…

The Times Table – Poem by Robert Frost

More than halfway up the passWas a spring with a broken drinking glass,And whether the farmer drank or notHis mare was sure to observe the spotBy cramping the wheel on a water-bar,turning her forehead with a star,And straining her ribs…

Snow – Poem by Robert Frost

The three stood listening to a fresh accessOf wind that caught against the house a moment,Gulped snow, and then blew free again-the ColesDressed, but dishevelled from some hours of sleep,Meserve belittled in the great skin coat he wore. Meserve was…

Wild Grapes – Poem by Robert Frost

What tree may not the fig be gathered from?The grape may not be gathered from the birch?It’s all you know the grape, or know the birch.As a girl gathered from the birch myselfEqually with my weight in grapes, one autumn,I…

Riders – Poem by Robert Frost

The surest thing there is is we are riders,And though none too successful at it, guiders,Through everything presented, land and tideAnd now the very air, of what we ride. What is this talked-of mystery of birthBut being mounted bareback on…

An Empty Threat – Poem by Robert Frost

I stay;But it isn’t as ifThere wasn’t always Hudson’s BayAnd the fur trade,A small skiffAnd a paddle blade. I can just see my tent pegged,And me on the floor,Cross-legged,And a trapper looking in at the doorWith furs to sell. His…

The Generations of Men – Poem by Robert Frost

A governor it was proclaimed this time,When all who would come seeking in New HampshireAncestral memories might come together.And those of the name Stark gathered in Bow,A rock-strewn town where farming has fallen off,And sprout-lands flourish where the axe has…