My November Guest
Robert Frost
Acquainted With the Night
The Armful
The Black Cottage
Blue-Butterfly Day
A Boundless Moment
The Code
The Death of the Hired Man
Departmental
The Door in the Dark
A Dream Pang
Dust of Snow
Evening in a Sugar Orchard
Fire and Ice
Flower-Gathering
Fragmentary Blue
The Generations of Men
Ghost House
In Hardwood Groves
In Neglect
Into My Own
The Kitchen Chimney
Love and a Question
Mending Wall
The Mountain
My Butterfly
My November Guest
Nothing Gold Can Stay
October
The Onset
Out, Out --
The Oven Bird
Pan with Us
A Patch of Old Snow
A Peck of Gold
A Prayer in Spring
Reluctance
Revelation
The Road Not Taken
Sand Dunes
Spring Pools
Stars
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
The Thatch
To E.T.
The Trial by Existence
The Tuft of Flowers
The Vanishing Red
The Vantage Point
A Winter Eden
The Wood-Pile
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 walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She's glad the birds are gone away, She's glad her simple worsted grady Is silver now with clinging mist. The desolate, deserted trees, The faded earth, the heavy sky, The beauties she so ryly 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 he so, And they are better for her praise.