Robert Frost 1874-1963 Robert Frost was a famous poet who was born Macrh 26, 1874 in San Frincisco. When he was younger, he lived with his father and mother, both teachers, and his brother Jeanie. When Frost's father died, his will requested for him to be requested in New England. The Frost family went east to the funeral. The family was lacking money so then, they lived in Salem, Massachuesetts, where his grandfather offered their family a home. Eventually, Mrs. Frost found a teaching job there. As child Frost's mother introduced him to a large variety in literature, and this made him become an exellent reader. He was not an enthusiastic student in elementary school, but became a great srtudent in high school and graduated top of his class and class poet. He went to Dartmouth College for a short period of time because he had become engaged to Elinor White. He had several jobs but at e same time he was stil writting poetry. He sold his first poem "Butterfly" in 1894 to the New York Independent. He was given a copy for himself and his wife but, Elinor did not seem to care and he was contemplating about killing himself. However, in 1895 Frost and Elinor were married and soon after their first son was born. He then spent two years at Harvard and it was very difficult for him with a newborn daughter and raising his son. Then he tried chiken farming, with his new poultry buisness he moved to New Hampshire. Soon after they moved their his first son died. IN 1906, Frost was diagnosed with pneumonia and almost passed away. During this hard time Frost wrote a lot of poetry. When he was forty years old, he had few poems published, but he sold his farm, moved to Enland, and bet everything on poetry. Ezra Pound, another poet helped publish some of Frost's work. He published "A Boy's Will" and "North of Boston." When Frost returned to the U.S. "North of Boston" was best seller. Frost got embarrased from all the fame, and moved to a small farm in New Hampshire. For financial reasons, he started to respond to demands of reading and lectures. Frost became a Phi Beta Kappa at Harvard and Tufts college. In order to do this he canquuerd his shyness and became one of the most popular American preformers. He then published "Mountain Interval." A few years later, he published "Selected Poems" and recieved one of his four Pulitzer Prizes. Frost visited England and Paris in 1928 and published collected poems, and four years his daughter died. That same year he published "A Further Range." Frost's lungs were very weak so his doctor made him move south. Two years later his wife died of a heart attack, he sold his house and Frost was also elected to the Board of Overseers at Harvard. A year later, he published his second Collected poems, and the following year his son committed suicide. In 1949, the Senate honored him when his complete poems appeared. In 1957, he recieved a doctoral degrees from Oxford and Cambridge. At the inauguration of John F. Kennedy, Frost recited "The Gift Outright,"and his final volume of poems came out a year later. On Janurary 29, 1963 Frost died in Boston, after some complications following an operation. He was buried in the family plot located in Vermont.

My Butterfly

by Robert Frost

Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too, And the daft sun-assaulter, he That frighted thee so oft, is fled or dead: Save only me (Nor is it sad to thee!) Save only me There is none left to mourn thee in the fields. The gray grass is not dappled with the snow; Its two banks have not shut upon the river; But it is long ago-- It seems forever-- Since first I saw thee glance, With all the dazzling other ones, In airy dalliance, Precipitate in love, Tossed, tangled, whirled and whirled above, Like a limp rose-wreath in a fairy dance. When that was, the soft mist Of my regret hung not on all the land, And I was glad for thee, And glad for me, I wist. Thou didst not know, who tottered, wandering on high, That fate had made thee for the pleasure of the wind, With those great careless wings, Nor yet did I. And there were other things: It seemed God let thee flutter from his gentle clasp: Then fearful he had let thee win Too far beyond him to be gathered in, Snatched thee, o'er eager, with ungentle grasp. Ah! I remember me How once conspiracy was rife Against my life-- The languor of it and the dreaming fond; Surging, the grasses dizzied me of thought, The breeze three odors brought, And a gem-flower waved in a wand! Then when I was distraught And could not speak, Sidelong, full on my cheek, What should that reckless zephyr fling But the wild touch of thy dye-dusty wing! I found that wing broken to-day! For thou are dead, I said, And the strange birds say. I found it with the withered leaves Under the eaves.

The Gift Outright

By Robert Frost

The land was ours before we were the land’s
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England’s, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she will become.