A Boy's Will

By Robert Frost

The publication of A Boy’s Will (1913) and North of Boston (1914) marked the debut of Robert Frost as a major talent and established him as the true poetic voice of New England. Four of his volumes would win the Pulitzer Prize before his death in 1963, and his body of work has since become an integral part of the American national heritage. (Goodreads)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Otbebookpublishing
• Release date: May 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9783965372634

Robert Frost

Robert Frost (1874-1963) was an American poet. Born in San Francisco, Frost moved with his family to Lawrence, Massachusetts following the death of his father, a teacher and editor. There, he attended Lawrence High School and went on to study for a brief time at Dartmouth College before returning home to work as a teacher, factory worker, and newspaper delivery person. Certain of his calling as a poet, Frost sold his first poem in 1894, embarking on a career that would earn him acclaim and honor unlike any American poet before or since. Before his paternal grandfather’s death, he purchased a farm in Derry, New Hampshire for Robert and his wife Elinor. For the next decade, Frost worked on the farm while writing poetry in the mornings before returning to teaching once more. In 1912, having moved to England, Frost published A Boy’s Will, his first book of poems. Through the next several years, he wrote and published poetry while befriending such writers as Edward Thomas and Ezra Pound. In 1915, after publishing North of Boston (1914) in London, Frost returned to the United States to settle on another farm in Franconia, New Hampshire, where he continued writing and teaching and began lecturing. Over the next several decades, Frost published numerous collections of poems, including New Hampshire: A Poem with Notes and Grace Notes (1924) and Collected Poems (1931), winning a total of four Pulitzer Prizes and establishing his reputation as the foremost American poet of his generation.

Book preview

A BOY'S WILL

By Robert Frost

Into My Own

    ONE of my wishes is that those dark trees,

    So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,

    Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,

    But stretched away unto the edge of doom.

    I should not be withheld but that some day

    Into their vastness I should steal away,

    Fearless of ever finding open land,

    Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.

    I do not see why I should e'er turn back,

    Or those should not set forth upon my track

    To overtake me, who should miss me here

    And long to know if still I held them dear.

    They would not find me changed from him they knew—

    Only more sure of all I thought was true.

Ghost House

    I DWELL in a lonely house I know

    That vanished many a summer ago,

    And left no trace but the cellar walls,

    And a cellar in which the daylight falls,

    And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

    O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield

    The woods come back to the mowing field;

    The orchard tree has grown one copse

    Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;

    The footpath down to the well is healed.

    I dwell with a strangely aching heart

    In that vanished abode there far apart

    On that disused and forgotten road

    That has no dust-bath now for the toad.

    Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

    The whippoorwill is coming to shout

    And hush and cluck and flutter about:

    I hear him begin far