Animal Poems

Animal Poems

Ghost House, by Robert Frost

I DWELL in a lonely house I know
That vanishe...

Good-Bye and Keep Cold, by Robert Frost

THIS saying good-bye on the edge of the dark
A...

A Hillside Thaw, by Robert Frost

TO think to know the country and not know
The ...

The Hill Wife, by Robert Frost

LONELINESS (Her Word) ONE ought not to have to...

The Housekeeper, by Robert Frost

I LET myself in at the kitchen door.
"It's you...

In a Vale, by Robert Frost

WHEN I was young, we dwelt in a vale
By a mi...

The Kitchen Chimney, by Robert Frost

BUILDER, in building the little house,
In ev...

A Line-Storm Song, by Robert Frost

THE line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, ...

Looking For a Sunset Bird in Winter, by Robert Frost

THE west was getting out of gold,
The breath ...

Maple, by Robert Frost

Her teacher's certainty it must be Mabel
Made ...

Mending Wall, by Robert Frost

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
...

The Mountain, by Robert Frost

THE mountain held the town as in a shadow
I sa...

Mowing, by Robert Frost

THERE was never a sound beside the wood but one...

My Butterfly, by Robert Frost

THINE emulous fond flowers are dead, too,
A...

The Need of Being Versed in Country Things, by Robert Frost

THE house had gone to bring again
To the midni...

New Hampshire, by Robert Frost

I met a lady from the South who said
(You won'...

Now Close the Windows, by Robert Frost

NOW close the windows and hush all the fields; ...

The Onset, by Robert Frost

ALWAYS the same, when on a fated night
At las...

Our Singing Strength, by Robert Frost

IT snowed in spring on earth so dry and warm
T...

"Out, Out--", by Robert Frost

THE buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
A...

The Oven Bird, by Robert Frost

THERE is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, ...

Pan with Us, by Robert Frost

PAN came out of the woods one day, --
His ski...

Paul's Wife, by Robert Frost

To drive Paul out of any lumber camp
All that ...

The Pauper Witch of Grafton, by Robert Frost

NOW that they've got it settled whose I be,
I...

Pea Brush, by Robert Frost

I walked down alone Sunday after church
To the...