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Early Poems
American poet Robert Frost's first three books, in one collection
This volume presents Frost’s first three books, masterful and innovative collections that contain some of his best-known poems, including "Mowing," "Mending Wall," "After Apple-Picking," "Home Burial," "The Oven Bird," "Birches," and "The Road Not Taken."
This volume presents Frost’s first three books, masterful and innovative collections that contain some of his best-known poems, including "Mowing," "Mending Wall," "After Apple-Picking," "Home Burial," "The Oven Bird," "Birches," and "The Road Not Taken."
320 pages, Paperback
First published December 12, 1988
186 people are currently reading
495 people want to read
About the author
Robert Frost
1,042 books5,051 followersFlinty, moody, plainspoken and deep, Robert Frost was one of America's most popular 20th-century poets. Frost was farming in Derry, New Hampshire when, at the age of 38, he sold the farm, uprooted his family and moved to England, where he devoted himself to his poetry. His first two books of verse, A Boy's Will (1913) and North of Boston (1914), were immediate successes. In 1915 he returned to the United States and continued to write while living in New Hampshire and then Vermont. His pastoral images of apple trees and stone fences -- along with his solitary, man-of-few-words poetic voice -- helped define the modern image of rural New England. Frost's poems include "Mending Wall" ("Good fences make good neighbors"), "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" ("Whose woods these are I think I know"), and perhaps his most famous work, "The Road Not Taken" ("Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- / I took the one less traveled by"). Frost was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for poetry four times: in 1924, 1931, 1937 and 1943. He also served as "Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress" from 1958-59; that position was renamed as Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry (or simply Poet Laureate) in 1986.
Frost recited his poem "The Gift Outright" at the 1961 inauguration of John F. Kennedy... Frost attended both Dartmouth College and Harvard, but did not graduate from either school... Frost preferred traditional rhyme and meter in poetry; his famous dismissal of free verse was, "I'd just as soon play tennis with the net down."
Frost recited his poem "The Gift Outright" at the 1961 inauguration of John F. Kennedy... Frost attended both Dartmouth College and Harvard, but did not graduate from either school... Frost preferred traditional rhyme and meter in poetry; his famous dismissal of free verse was, "I'd just as soon play tennis with the net down."
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Displaying 1 - 27 of 27 reviews
April 11, 2016
I went through a rather fanatical Robert Frost phase when I was a college freshman. That year, I devoured four of Frost's first five published collections of poetry: A Boy's Will, North of Boston, Mountain Interval, and West-Running Brook.
I was seventeen. I had just moved from a rather nondescript young suburb in the Midwest to the history-saturated city of Boston, Frost's old stomping grounds. I immediately recognized Frost as a quintessential New Englander. I was struck by the strong sense of history, tradition, and centuries-old community that reverberates through his poems. Frost's deep rootedness in his geographic surroundings was what impressed me most. As a child of immigrants, I had always felt disconnected from my roots as well as from my immediate surroundings, and Frost seemed so tightly connected to his own roots that I envied him and wanted to be him. I admired his gravitas, his gentleman-farmer-like gruffness, the grainy texture of his verse.
At one point during my college years, I was so Frost-obsessed that I started a blog titled "To Earthward," named after my favorite Frost poem, a rather frighteningly bleak exploration of how a young man's hunger for intense experiences will inevitably metamorphose into an old man's thirst for death:
...I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,
The hurt is not enough...
The halting patter of his iambics, like the last drops of a rain shower on a roof. I was an emo kid in those days, sure.
I was seventeen. I had just moved from a rather nondescript young suburb in the Midwest to the history-saturated city of Boston, Frost's old stomping grounds. I immediately recognized Frost as a quintessential New Englander. I was struck by the strong sense of history, tradition, and centuries-old community that reverberates through his poems. Frost's deep rootedness in his geographic surroundings was what impressed me most. As a child of immigrants, I had always felt disconnected from my roots as well as from my immediate surroundings, and Frost seemed so tightly connected to his own roots that I envied him and wanted to be him. I admired his gravitas, his gentleman-farmer-like gruffness, the grainy texture of his verse.
At one point during my college years, I was so Frost-obsessed that I started a blog titled "To Earthward," named after my favorite Frost poem, a rather frighteningly bleak exploration of how a young man's hunger for intense experiences will inevitably metamorphose into an old man's thirst for death:
...I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,
The hurt is not enough...
The halting patter of his iambics, like the last drops of a rain shower on a roof. I was an emo kid in those days, sure.
October 16, 2018
A friend of mine got this for me for my birthday years ago. Reading this volume of Robert Frost's poetry was challenging, fascinating, and incredibly moving. My favorite particular poem from this volume is October. It evokes the season of Autumn in a poignant way, and it reminds me of some very good memories I have made here in the mountains of North Carolina.
July 18, 2025
I mean, it’s Robert freaking Frost?? Obviously it’s good poetry. I had many lovely days annotating these poems on the lawn at school or reading them for class. “Birches” is my favorite.
April 13, 2015
I just love Frost!
January 7, 2019
By the time I read this book, I was pretty irritated, for a variety of reasons. The main source of irritation was that I had just read for the third time in the course of a couple of days the same collection of poems by someone who is considered a great poet, all of which were given different titles. If someone wants to be considered as a great poet, it should not be possible that their earliest poems also be their selected poems or their best poems, not when those poems don't happen to be very good for the most part. The first book I read was an illustrated book of these same poems without any critical introduction, and the second book was a selection of the better poems of this same body of work with a critical introduction. This book, sadly, has no illustrations that would take one's attention off of the mediocre (at best) poetry, and has a very lengthy introduction that demonstrates the appeal of Frost's poetry to pretentious literary critics and the problems that Frost had in being indecisive in his portrayal of himself, in his deliberate and artful ambiguity, which makes the poems even more frustrating because they cannot even be enjoyed in a straightforward fashion.
This book is more than 200 pages long, and after an introduction that runs on for thirty pages, it contains suggestions for further reading and a note on the texts. The text itself begins with the poems from "A Boy's Will," then moves on to the poetry of "North Of Boston," then progresses to "Mountain Interval," which begins with Frost's best-known and often-parodied and anthologized "The Road Not Taken," before looking at the poems to 1922 that were later published in New Hampshire. The table of contents is worthwhile in at least one way in that the poems of "A Boy's Will" have short descriptions that at least point to something that the poet was aiming at, but the remainder of the poems do not have this comforting and worthwhile summary, which would make some of them easier to appreciate, at least. It is unsurprising as well that the first selection of poems is the best, largely because the poems are short and relatively straightforward, and that the miscellaneous poems at the end are almost as good for the same reasons. Where Frost is less pedantic, more honest, and more straightforward, his rhymes are not unpleasant, his scansion enjoyable, but these moments are too few and far between here.
And ultimately, these poems are barely worth reading once, for the most part, much less three times marketed under different names. If any part of the popularity of Frost's work is in the smoke and mirrors of marketing the same books under different names, that would suggest a level of dishonesty that would make Frost (and his publishers) on the same level of morality as a John Maxwell. The fact that so much attention is given to his early poetry suggests that he peaked very early and somehow managed to stay famous for a long time afterward. As someone who reads a lot of poetry (far more than the average reader), this does not seem like a very common quality. Most of the poets I have read have careers that last for decades, and they are able to keep up a high quality of works over a long span. William Stafford, for example, wrote very good poetry in the 1940's when he was a conscientious objector in a work camp and still wrote very good poetry consistently up to his death in the 1990's. Frost, on the other hand, does not appear to have this quality, as all of the selections I have seen of his poetry are of a very short period, and that where many of his poems were long and rambling attempts at phony conversations. Frost is not the worst poet ever, but he just may be the most overrated.
This book is more than 200 pages long, and after an introduction that runs on for thirty pages, it contains suggestions for further reading and a note on the texts. The text itself begins with the poems from "A Boy's Will," then moves on to the poetry of "North Of Boston," then progresses to "Mountain Interval," which begins with Frost's best-known and often-parodied and anthologized "The Road Not Taken," before looking at the poems to 1922 that were later published in New Hampshire. The table of contents is worthwhile in at least one way in that the poems of "A Boy's Will" have short descriptions that at least point to something that the poet was aiming at, but the remainder of the poems do not have this comforting and worthwhile summary, which would make some of them easier to appreciate, at least. It is unsurprising as well that the first selection of poems is the best, largely because the poems are short and relatively straightforward, and that the miscellaneous poems at the end are almost as good for the same reasons. Where Frost is less pedantic, more honest, and more straightforward, his rhymes are not unpleasant, his scansion enjoyable, but these moments are too few and far between here.
And ultimately, these poems are barely worth reading once, for the most part, much less three times marketed under different names. If any part of the popularity of Frost's work is in the smoke and mirrors of marketing the same books under different names, that would suggest a level of dishonesty that would make Frost (and his publishers) on the same level of morality as a John Maxwell. The fact that so much attention is given to his early poetry suggests that he peaked very early and somehow managed to stay famous for a long time afterward. As someone who reads a lot of poetry (far more than the average reader), this does not seem like a very common quality. Most of the poets I have read have careers that last for decades, and they are able to keep up a high quality of works over a long span. William Stafford, for example, wrote very good poetry in the 1940's when he was a conscientious objector in a work camp and still wrote very good poetry consistently up to his death in the 1990's. Frost, on the other hand, does not appear to have this quality, as all of the selections I have seen of his poetry are of a very short period, and that where many of his poems were long and rambling attempts at phony conversations. Frost is not the worst poet ever, but he just may be the most overrated.
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May 16, 2020read this because i wanted something short, and i enjoyed it. for poetry it takes me a few reads to really understand a poem but I didn’t feel like reading each poem a few times so I didn’t really think that deeply about the moral statements and such in each poem. i found the later half of the poems interesting as they became narratives, even if they did confuse me. i think my favorite poem was blueberries, although i liked mending wall and good hours too.
July 6, 2022
I was surprised by this collection! It made me realize that most of what I’ve read of Frost’s work was written later in his career. The vignette-like pieces in this book were the most interesting to me, & I thought Frost did a great job of painting a scene & illustrating characters. This is something I’ll be returning to as I work with crossing genres in my own work.
December 19, 2023
I started this in college (2003-07) and used a poem for analysis in an English class, The Tuft of Flowers. I like Frost’s imagery because it’s relatable to me despite growing up in Dallas, TX and not Boston. I don’t normally read poetry, but I’m expanding my horizons and I don’t think Frost is too abstract. Still, I think I prefer all manner of prose.
June 12, 2021
Terrific collection of
Frost’s early work. This is also the only Delphi collection so far I’ve finished reading (it is incomplete…) and it is very well put together, well formatted (not to assume, with poetry), and enjoyable, often rather deep. Recommended!
Frost’s early work. This is also the only Delphi collection so far I’ve finished reading (it is incomplete…) and it is very well put together, well formatted (not to assume, with poetry), and enjoyable, often rather deep. Recommended!
September 18, 2022
Some water in his beer, but anyone looking for a serious collection of Frost should look no further. Wish there was more context to the poetry, but that’s hardly a fair criticism. Frost delivers lovely work.
January 11, 2025
u can tell robert frost has a lot of good technical writing skills, it was extremely well written and intriguing. the subject matter itself didn’t catch my attention too much, but there r a couple of poems where i was completely blown away. overall, good read!
August 24, 2017
Never tell me that not one star of all
That slip from heaven at night and softly fall
Has been picked up with stones to build a wall.
That slip from heaven at night and softly fall
Has been picked up with stones to build a wall.
October 17, 2019
This material is so pleasant and relaxing to read; it's no wonder Frost is so popular. Some poems toward the end were unexpectedly dark, but all of them are honest observations of the simple world.
August 4, 2023
I started this in college for an English class and finally finished. Really beautiful poetry, that's easy to approach even for people who aren't used to this writing style and genre.
September 28, 2025
Annotated this as a gift for someone I’m fond of, really beautiful stuff. My favorite in the collection is probably “The Spoils of the Dead” which I nearly weeped over in English class.
Read
September 8, 2015The house had gone to bring again
To the midnight sky a sunset glow.
Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,
Like a pistil after the petals go.
The barn opposed across the way,
That would have joined the house in flame
Had it been the will of the wind, was left
To bear forsaken the place's name.
No more it opened with all one end
For teams that came by the stony road
To drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs
And brush the mow with the summer load.
The birds that came to it through the air
At broken windows flew out and in,
Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh
From too much dwelling on what has been.
Yet for them the lilac renewed its leaf,
And the aged elm, though touched with fire;
And the dry pump flung up an awkward arm;
And the fence post carried a strand of wire.
For them there was really nothing sad.
But though they rejoiced in the nest they kept,
One had to be versed in country things
Not to believe the phoebes wept.
To the midnight sky a sunset glow.
Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,
Like a pistil after the petals go.
The barn opposed across the way,
That would have joined the house in flame
Had it been the will of the wind, was left
To bear forsaken the place's name.
No more it opened with all one end
For teams that came by the stony road
To drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs
And brush the mow with the summer load.
The birds that came to it through the air
At broken windows flew out and in,
Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh
From too much dwelling on what has been.
Yet for them the lilac renewed its leaf,
And the aged elm, though touched with fire;
And the dry pump flung up an awkward arm;
And the fence post carried a strand of wire.
For them there was really nothing sad.
But though they rejoiced in the nest they kept,
One had to be versed in country things
Not to believe the phoebes wept.
September 8, 2015
The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.
In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
Was singing in it sweet and swift.
No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.
From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only adding frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn't show.
A brush had left a crooked stroke
Of what was either cloud or smoke
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.
In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
Was singing in it sweet and swift.
No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.
From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only adding frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn't show.
A brush had left a crooked stroke
Of what was either cloud or smoke
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.
August 1, 2007
Being a poet-hopeful from New Hampshire, I take Frost as my arch-enemy. I'll admit some of it's not terrible, and I like the bits that inquire into the poetry of people's conversations, but overall this collection sucks.
April 17, 2012
Many of the poems rekindled memories of my childhood--the outdoors and nature.
The way Frost stirs emotions and lets the mind make connections through his literary picture making, makes many of his poems masterpieces.
The way Frost stirs emotions and lets the mind make connections through his literary picture making, makes many of his poems masterpieces.
December 13, 2014
Early Frost by Robert Frost was a terrific poetry read. Filled with wonderful prose and insight into the lives of nature and of humanity as a whole. I recommend this book for anyone who likes or loves poetry.
can-read-a-bit-at-a-time
October 28, 2007It would be nice to have an audio version to accompany reading this.
June 12, 2012
Best poet ever to write.
January 23, 2016
This is a collection of poems written early in Robert Frost's career. They cover a wide variety of topics giving something for every reader.
February 7, 2016
I don't think it's necessary to rate and review Frost. So many have done it
Read
January 25, 2019it was descriptive and full of emotion
Read
January 12, 2010hm.
Displaying 1 - 27 of 27 reviews