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    New Hampshire
    New Hampshire
    New Hampshire
    Ebook117 pages1 hour

    New Hampshire

    By Robert Frost

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    New Hampshire is Robert Frost’s poetic tour de force. It won the Pulitzer Prize for excellence in poetry. While Frost had been a respected poet before New Hampshire’s release New Hampshire forever cemented Frost’s standing as the greatest American Poet. If you’ve never read Frost, this is the book with which to start. It includes some of his most beloved poems such as "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," "Nothing Gold Can Stay" and "Fire and Ice.” Powerful and Evocative. Poems included are: 'New Hampshire' 'A Star in a Stone-Boat' 'The Census-Taker' 'The Star-Splitter' 'Maple' 'The Ax-Helve' 'The Grindstone' 'Paul’s Wife' 'Wild Grapes' 'Place for a Third' 'Two Witches' - 'The Witch of Coos' - 'The Pauper Witch of Grafton' 'An Empty Threat' 'A Fountain, a Bottle, a Donkey’s Ears, and Some Books' 'I Will Sing You One-O' 'Fragmentary Blue' 'Fire and Ice' 'In a Disused Graveyard' 'Dust of Snow' 'To E.T.' 'Nothing Gold Can Stay' 'The Runaway' 'The Aim Was Song' 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' 'For Once, Then, Something' 'Blue-Butterfly Day' 'The Onset' 'To Earthward' 'Good-by and Keep Cold' 'Two Look at Two' 'Not to Keep' 'A Brook in the City' 'The Kitchen Chimney' 'Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter' 'A Boundless Moment' 'Evening in a Sugar Orchard' 'Gathering Leaves' 'The Valley’s Singing Day' 'Misgiving' 'A Hillside Thaw' 'Plowmen' 'On a Tree Fallen Across the Road' 'Our Singing Strength' 'The Lockless Door' 'The Need of Being Versed in Country Things'
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStart Publishing LLC
    Release dateApr 28, 2020
    ISBN9781952438462
    Author

    Robert Frost

    Robert Frost (1874–1963) was a poet who was much admired for his depictions of rural life in New England, command of American colloquial speech, and realistic verse portraying ordinary people in everyday situations.

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    • 4/5
      In 1923 Robert Frost published his Selected Poems in the spring followed by this collection in November. The following year he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for it. In addition to the titular poem this collection includes the famous "Fire and Ice", a short poem with resonance from Dante and others. One of my favorites is "The Onset" that seems an appropriate poem to meditate upon as spring approaches. I think we can see a hint of Dante again in this poem with "the dark woods", and there is also the symbolism of winter coming, of snow falling, a beautiful imagery that a time will descend upon us where our lives are dull, tragic, painful or lonely. Yet in the second stanza hope appears with the recognition that "winter death has never tried the earth but it has failed:". By the end of the poem the transition from death to life is complete when one contrasts the white of "the gathered snow" at night to the living white of the birch tree and hope in family life symbolized by "a clump of houses" and the spiritual life of the church."Nothing will be left of white but here a birch,And there a clump of houses with a church."

    Book preview

    New Hampshire - Robert Frost

    New Hampshire

    A Poem with Notes and Grace Notes

    by Robert Frost

    Start Publishing LLC

    Copyright © 2020 by Start Publishing LLC

    All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

    First Start Publishing eBook edition.

    Start Publishing is a registered trademark of Start Publishing LLC

    Manufactured in the United States of America

    10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

    ISBN 978-1-952438-46-2

    Table of Contents

    NEW HAMPSHIRE

    New Hampshire

    NOTES

    A Star in a Stone-boat

    The Census-taker

    The Star-splitter

    Maple

    The Axe-helve

    The Grindstone

    Paul’s Wife

    Wild Grapes

    Place for a Third

    Two Witches

    I. The Witch of Coös

    II. The Pauper Witch of Grafton

    An Empty Threat

    A Fountain, a Bottle, a Donkey’s Ears and Some Books

    I Will Sing You One-O

    GRACE NOTES

    Fragmentary Blue

    Fire and Ice

    In a Disused Graveyard

    Dust of Snow

    To E. T.

    Nothing Gold Can Stay

    The Runaway

    The Aim was Song

    Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

    For Once, Then, Something

    Blue-butterfly Day

    The Onset

    To Earthward

    Good-Bye and Keep Cold

    Two Look at Two

    Not to Keep

    A Brook in the City

    The Kitchen Chimney

    Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter

    A Boundless Moment

    Evening in a Sugar Orchard

    Gathering Leaves

    The Valley’s Singing Day

    Misgiving

    A Hillside Thaw

    Plowmen

    On a Tree Fallen Across the Road (To hear us talk)

    Our Singing Strength

    The Lockless Door

    The Need of Being Versed in Country Things

    NEW HAMPSHIRE

    New Hampshire

    I met a lady from the South who said

    (You won’t believe she said it, but she said it):

    "None of my family ever worked, or had

    A thing to sell." I don’t suppose the work

    Much matters. You may work for all of me.

    I’ve seen the time I’ve had to work myself.

    The having anything to sell is what

    Is the disgrace in man or state or nation.

    I met a traveller from Arkansas

    Who boasted of his state as beautiful

    For diamonds and apples. "Diamonds

    And apples in commercial quantities?"

    I asked him, on my guard. Oh yes, he answered,

    Off his. The time was evening in the Pullman.

    I see the porter’s made your bed, I told him.

    I met a Californian who would

    Talk California—a state so blessed,

    He said, in climate none had ever died there

    A natural death, and Vigilance Committees

    Had had to organize to stock the graveyards

    And vindicate the state’s humanity.

    Just the way Steffanson runs on, I murmured,

    "About the British Arctic. That’s what comes

    Of being in the market with a climate."

    I met a poet from another state,

    A zealot full of fluid inspiration,

    Who in the name of fluid inspiration,

    But in the best style of bad salesmanship,

    Angrily tried to make me write a protest

    (In verse I think) against the Volstead Act.

    He didn’t even offer me a drink

    Until I asked for one to steady him.

    This is called having an idea to sell.

    It never could have happened in New Hampshire.

    The only person really soiled with trade

    I ever stumbled on in old New Hampshire

    Was someone who had just come back ashamed

    From selling things in California.

    He’d built a noble mansard roof with balls

    On turrets like Constantinople, deep

    In woods some ten miles from a railroad station,

    As if to put forever out of mind

    The hope of being, as we say, received.

    I found him standing at the close of day

    Inside the threshold of his open barn,

    Like a lone actor on a gloomy stage—

    And recognized him through the iron grey

    In which his face was muffled to the eyes

    As an old boyhood friend, and once indeed

    A drover with me on the road to Brighton.

    His farm was grounds, and not a farm at all;

    His house among the local sheds and shanties

    Rose like a factor’s at a trading station.

    And he was rich, and I was still a rascal.

    I couldn’t keep from asking impolitely,

    Where had he been and what had he been doing?

    How did he get so? (Rich was understood.)

    In dealing in old rags in San Francisco.

    Oh it was terrible as well could be.

    We both of us turned over in our graves.

    Just specimens is all New Hampshire has,

    One each of everything as in a show-case

    Which naturally she doesn’t care to sell.

    She had one President (pronounce him Purse,

    And make the most of it for better or worse.

    He’s your one chance to score against the state).

    She had one Daniel Webster. He was all

    The Daniel Webster ever was or shall be.

    She had the Dartmouth needed to produce him.

    I call her old. She has one family

    Whose claim is good to being settled here

    Before the era of colonization,

    And before that of exploration even.

    John Smith remarked them as he coasted by

    Dangling their legs and fishing off a wharf

    At the Isles of Shoals, and satisfied himself

    They weren’t Red Indians but veritable

    Pre-primitives of the white race, dawn people,

    Like those who furnished Adam’s sons with wives;

    However uninnocent they may have been

    In being there so early in our history.

    They’d been there then a hundred years or more.

    Pity he didn’t ask what they were up to

    At that date with a wharf already built,

    And take their name. They’ve since told me their name—

    Today an honored one in Nottingham.

    As for what they were up to more than fishing—

    Suppose they weren’t behaving Puritanly,

    The hour had not yet struck for being good,

    Mankind had not yet gone on the Sabbatical.

    It became an explorer of the deep

    Not to explore too deep in others’

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