“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”

By |2021-02-14T14:53:14-06:00December 1st, 2020|Categories: Poetry, Robert Frost|

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. 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. [...]

“Nothing Gold Can Stay”

By |2020-11-21T11:31:02-06:00November 21st, 2020|Categories: Poetry, Robert Frost|

Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. […]

Behind the Lines: Robert Frost’s “Fire and Ice”

By |2020-11-11T16:11:09-06:00November 11th, 2020|Categories: Literature, Poetry, Robert Frost|

For all the poem’s structural simplicity, Robert Frost’s “Fire and Ice” perfectly encapsulates the poetic concept of complex metaphor. The metaphor, in which the universe mirrors the human soul, has two contrasting components: fire and ice, the personal and the cosmic, the real and the theoretical, desire and hate. Anyone who has ever attended a [...]

“Fire and Ice”

By |2020-09-06T11:43:47-05:00September 6th, 2020|Categories: Poetry, Robert Frost|

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. The Imaginative Conservative applies the [...]

Robert Frost: The Conversationalist as Poet

By |2021-01-28T22:40:32-06:00January 28th, 2020|Categories: Language, Literature, Peter Stanlis, Poetry, Robert Frost|

Robert Frost’s theory goes to the heart of his entire aesthetic philosophy and conception of art, and is ultimately a vital part of his great skill and power both as a conversationalist and poet, and in his metaphorical habits of thought as a philosophical dualist: “I was poetry that talked.” From around 1913 until Robert [...]

“The Door in the Dark”

By |2020-10-20T16:31:44-05:00November 25th, 2018|Categories: Poetry, Robert Frost|

In going from room to room in the dark, I reached out blindly to save my face, But neglected, however lightly, to lace My fingers and close my arms in an arc. A slim door got in past my guard, And hit me a blow in the head so hard I had my native simile [...]

“In a Disused Graveyard”

By |2020-10-21T06:34:08-05:00October 28th, 2018|Categories: Poetry, Robert Frost|

The living come with grassy tread To read the gravestones on the hill; The graveyard draws the living still, But never anymore the dead. The verses in it say and say: "The ones who living come today To read the stones and go away Tomorrow dead will come to stay." So sure of death the [...]

Mending Walls: Why Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

By |2020-03-25T12:37:16-05:00July 8th, 2018|Categories: Civil Society, Community, Immigration, John Horvat, Robert Frost, St. Thomas Aquinas|

The liberal rage against the border wall has much to do with the nature of boundaries. Walls, borders, and fences are manifestations of restraint. Fallen humanity naturally resists the restraints of order that keep the unbridled passions under control. Walls are needed to keep the peace… “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,” wrote [...]

“The Gift Outright”

By |2019-03-20T16:42:15-05:00March 25th, 2017|Categories: Poetry, 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. […]

“Out, Out —”

By |2017-06-12T14:48:13-05:00January 29th, 2017|Categories: Poetry, Robert Frost|

The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood, Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it. And from there those that lifted eyes could count Five mountain ranges one behind the other Under the sunset far into Vermont. […]

The Classicism of Robert Frost

By |2019-10-23T12:45:22-05:00January 28th, 2017|Categories: Robert Frost|

Not many writers, especially not many poets, surpass after the age of fifty-six the achievements of their middle life—but Robert Frost did… One night in the fall of 1926 I found a note in my mailbox that gave me a jump of excitement. I saved that note for many years but cannot reproduce it now, [...]

The Star-Splitter

By |2017-06-13T09:53:37-05:00July 31st, 2016|Categories: Poetry, Robert Frost|

“You know Orion always comes up sideways. Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains, And rising on his hands, he looks in on me Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something I should have done by daylight, and indeed, After the ground is frozen, I should have done Before it froze, and a gust [...]

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