The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged

by Robert Frost

We make ourselves a place apart Behind light words that tease and flout, But oh, the agitated heart Till someone find us really out.

So all who hide too well away Must speak and tell us where they are.

“Men work together,” I told him from the heart, “Whether they work together or apart.”

“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in.”

Tell me about it if it’s something human. Let me into your grief.

With anyone to death, comes so far short They might as well not try to go at all. No, from the time when one is sick to death, One is alone, and he dies more alone.

For, dear me, why abandon a belief Merely because it ceases to be true. Cling to it long enough, and not a doubt It will turn true again, for so it goes. Most of the change we think we see in life Is due to truths being in and out of favour.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Ends and beginnings—there are no such things. There are only middles.”

Haven’t you heard what we have lived to learn? Nothing so new—something we had forgotten: War is for everyone, for children too.

“Well, there’s—the storm. That says I must go on. That wants me as a war might if it came. Ask any man.”