Robert Frost: What I Learned About Life

Long Live Robert Frost

“In 3 words I ran sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on. Meaning that no matter how hard it is life gives you multiple chances.Robert Frost is very famous and an oft-quoted poet and Frost wrote about life often in his work. A four-time Pulitzer Prize winner in poetry. Frost was very intelligent, Elinor White, Robert’s wife was his was co-valedictorian at Lawrence High School. After high school, he attended a high-class school, Harvard University, Until his father died of tuberculosis. Robert Frost, an American poet, used themes nature, choices, and human destruction in his poetry.

Frost’s father was a journalist himself, maybe the reason Robert began writing to begin with. Robert was born on March 26,

Nobody owns nature, even though everyone thinks they do. Nature is separate from society you can’t control nature, and sometimes you just have to watch it do what it does. People think it’s strange going in the woods by yourself. He wants to find himself, he wants to think about everything. He can make no mistakes out in the woods alone, nobody can hear him. It’s good to go out in the woods alone, so you can think. He loves the woods but it also scared of them. He has to leave because nature is too much to handle. Starting off a poem with a possessive pronoun is a brave and unusual thing to do but Frost manages to make it work, immediately grabbing the reader's attention. It's as if the speaker is sitting close by, thinking out loud, perhaps whispering, but this initial thought isn't crystal clear, the speaker only thinks he knows who owns the wood - the first uncertainty is introduced - and he is making this statement to reassure himself as he comes to a stop, breaking his journey.There is a gentle, slightly mysterious atmosphere created by the second, third and fourth lines, all suggesting that the owner of the woods lives elsewhere, is separate and won't see this visual 'trespasser' near the woods.It's as if there's something clandestine going on, yet the image presented to the reader is as innocent as a scene on a Christmas card. The rhythm of each line is steady, without variation, and there is nothing odd about it at