Quote #107
No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.
Attribution disputed; shown as originally published.
More from Robert Frost
- It should be of the pleasure of a poem itself to tell how it can. The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom. The fig…
- Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting...Read it a hundred times; it will forever keep its freshness as a…
- 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.
- Scholars and artists thrown together are often annoyed at the puzzle of where they differ. Both work from knowledge; but I suspect they dif…
- He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.
- Back out of all this now too much for us, Back in a time made simple by the loss Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off Like graveyar…
- 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.
- As for the woods' excitement over you That sends light rustle rushes to their leaves, Charge that to upstart inexperience. Where were they …