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Robert Frost

Selected Poems

In “Selected Poems,” Robert Frost compiles a remarkable array of his most celebrated works, showcasing his profound engagement with themes of nature, rural life, and the human condition. With a keen ear for the nuances of colloquial speech, Frost weaves a tapestry of vivid imagery and intricate metaphors throughout his writing. The collection not only reflects the New England landscape but also serves as a commentary on universal human experiences, emphasizing the complexity of life'Äôs choices and the transient nature of happiness. Frost's mastery in blending free verse with traditional forms positions him as a central figure in American literature, bridging the gap between modernism and traditional poetic sensibilities. Robert Frost (1874–1963) was a four-time Pulitzer Prize-winning poet known for his intimate connection with rural America. His upbringing in a farming family and subsequent experiences in both city and country life profoundly shaped his worldview. These diverse influences inspired him to articulate the often stark realities of human existence against the backdrop of nature, allowing readers to find solace and understanding in his reflective verses. “Selected Poems” is a vital exploration of Frost'Äôs poetic legacy, offering readers an opportunity to delve into the complexities of life through masterfully crafted verses. Ideal for both seasoned poetry enthusiasts and newcomers alike, this compilation invites contemplation and appreciation of the intricacies of human emotion and the natural world.
72 páginas impresas
Propietario de los derechos de autor
Bookwire
Publicación original
2019
Año de publicación
2019
Editorial
Good Press
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    And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
    No longer blown hither and thither;
    The last lone aster is gone;
    The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
    The heart is still aching to seek,
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    The desolate, deserted trees,
    The faded earth, the heavy sky,
    The beauties she so truly sees,
    She thinks I have no eye for these,
    And vexes me for reason why.

    Not yesterday I learned to know
    The love of bare November days
    Before the coming of the snow,
    But it were vain to tell her so,
    And they are better for her praise.
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    Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
    From the window or the door.
    I shall set forth for somewhere,
    I shall make the reckless choice
    Some day when they are in voice
    And tossing so as to scare
    The white clouds over them on.
    I shall have less to say,
    But I shall be gone.

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