American Literature 3

Poe r b Rober Fros

The Road No Taken By Robert Frost

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.

Birches By Robert Frost

When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves

As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better.

I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Fire and Ice By Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. F ha I e a ed f de i e I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.

No hing Gold Can S a By Robert Frost

Na e fi g ee i g d, Her hardest hue to hold. He ea eaf a f e ; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

S opping b Woods on a Sno E ening By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The he d he ee Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

The Dea h of he Hired Man By Robert Frost

Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step, She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage To meet him in the doorway with the news A d hi hi g a d. Si a i bac . She pushed him outward with her through the door A d h i af e he . Be i d, he aid. She he a e hi g f Wa e a And set them on the porch, then drew him down To sit beside her on the wooden steps. Whe a I e e a hi g b i d hi ?

B I ha e he fe bac , he aid. I d hi a ha i g, did I?

If he left then, I said, that ended it. What good is he? Who else will harbor him At his age for the little he can do? Wha he he i he e de e di g . Off he goes always when I need him most. He thinks he ought to earn a little pay, Enough at least to buy tobacco with, S he ha e beg a d be beh de . A igh , I a , I ca aff d a

A fi ed age , h gh I i h I c d. S e e e e ca . The e e e e i ha e .

I h d i d hi be e i g hi e f If that was what it was. You can be certain, Whe he begi i e ha , he e e e a hi Trying to coax him off with pocket-money, In haying time, when any help is scarce. I i e he c e bac . I d e. Sh! d: he hea , Ma aid.

I a hi : he ha e a e.

He . He a ee be ide he e.

Whe I ca e f R e I f d hi he e, Huddled against the barn-door fast asleep, A miserable sight, and frightening, too Y eed i e I did ec g i e hi I a i g f hi a d he cha ged. Wai i ee. Whe e did a he d bee ? He did a . I d agged hi he h e,

And gave him tea and tried to make him smoke. I tried to make him talk about his travels. N hi g d d : he e ddi g ff. Wha did he a ? Did he a a hi g?

B i e.

A hi g? Ma , c fe He aid he d c e di ch he ead f e.

Wa e ! B did he? I a . Of c e he did. Wha d ha e hi a ?

S e d g dge he d a Some humble way to save his self-respect. He added, if you really care to know, He meant to clear the upper pasture, too. That sounds like something you have heard before? Warren, I wish you could have heard the way He jumbled everything. I stopped to look Two or three times he made me feel so queer To see if he was talking in his sleep. He ran on Harold Wilson you remember The boy you had in haying four years since. He fi i hed ch , a d eachi g i hi c ege. Si a dec a e ha e ge him back. He says they two will make a team for work: Between them they will lay this farm as smooth! The way he mixed that in with other things. He thinks young Wilson a likely lad, though daft On education you know how they fought All through July under the blazing sun, Silas up on the cart to build the load, Ha d a g be ide i ch i . Ye , I ca e ee e f ea h .

We , h e da b e Si a i e a d ea .

Y d hi he d. H e hi g i ge ! Ha d g c ege b a a ce i ed hi . After so many years he still keeps finding Good arguments he sees he might have used. I sympathize. I know just how it feels To think of the right thing to say too late. Ha d a cia ed i hi ind with Latin. He a ed e ha I h gh f Ha d a i g He studied Latin like the violin Because he liked it that an argument! He aid he c d a e he b be ie e He could find water with a hazel prong Which showed how much good school had ever done him. He wanted to go over that. But most of all He thinks if he could have another chance To teach him how to build a load of hay

I , ha Si a e acc i h e .

He bundles every forkful in its place, And tags and numbers it for future reference, So he can find and easily dislodge it In the unloading. Silas does that well. He a e i i b che i e big bi d e . You never see him standing on the hay He i g if , ai i g if hi e f. He hi if he c d each hi ha , he d be

Some good perhaps to someone in the world. He hates to see a boy the fool of books. Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk, And nothing to look backward to with pride, And nothing to look forward to with hope, S a d e e a diffe e . Part of a moon was falling down the west, Dragging the whole sky with it to the hills. Its light poured softly in her lap. She saw it And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand Among the harp-like morning-glory strings, Taut with the dew from garden bed to eaves, As if she played unheard some tenderness That wrought on him beside her in the night. Wa e , he aid, he ha c e h e die:

Y eed be af aid he ea e hi i e. H e, he c ed ge .

Ye , ha e e b h e? It all depends on what you mean by home. Of c e he hi g , a e Than was the hound that came a stranger to us Out of the wo d , he ai . H e i he ace he e, he ha e g he e,

The ha e a e i . I h d ha e ca ed i S e hi g eh ha e de e e. Warren leaned out and took a step or two, Picked up a little stick, and brought it back And broke it in his hand and tossed it by.

Si a ha be e c ai hi Than on his brother? Thirteen little miles As the road winds would bring him to his door. Silas has walked that far no doubt today. Wh did he g he e? Hi b he ich, A somebody di ec i he ba . He e e d ha .

We i h gh. I hi hi b he gh he , f c e.

I ee ha if he e i eed. He gh f igh To take him in, and might be willing to He may be better than appearances. But have some pity on Silas. Do you think If he d had a ide i c ai i g i Or anything he looked for from his brother, He d ee i ab hi a hi i e? I de ha be ee he .

I ca e . Silas is what he is e d i d hi B he i d ha i f ca abide. He never did a thing so very bad. He d h he i i e a g d As anyone. Worthless though he is, He be ade a ha ed ea e hi b he . I ca hi Si e e h a e.

N , b he h hea he a he a

And rolled his old head on that sharp-edged chair-back. He d e e hi he ge. You must go in and see what you can do. I made the bed up for him there tonight. Y be i ed a hi h ch he b e . His working days are do e; I' e f i . I d be i a h a ha .

I ha e bee . G , , ee f e f.

But, Warren, please remember how it is: He c e he di ch he ead . He ha a a . Y a gh a hi .

He may not speak of it, and then he may. I i a d ee if ha a ai i g c d Wi hi i he . It hit the moon. Then there were three there, making a dim row, The moon, the little silver cloud, and she. Warren returned too soon, it seemed to her, Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited. Wa e , he e i ed.

Dead, a a he a e ed.