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    New Hampshire
    New Hampshire
    New Hampshire
    Ebook129 pages1 hour

    New Hampshire

    By Robert Frost

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    About this ebook

    First published in 1923, “New Hampshire” by famed American poet Robert Frost, is one of the most beautiful and famous collection of poems in American literature. The book contains many of Frost’s most well-known and beloved poems, such as “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, “Nothing Gold Can Stay”, “Fire and Ice”, and “The Need of Being Versed in Country Things”. Frost won the first of his four Pulitzer Prizes for “New Hampshire” and he would go on to be awarded the Congressional Gold Medal in 1960 for his poetry and was named the poet laureate of Vermont in 1961. Frost’s immortal poems have become an essential part of the fabric of American culture and continue to inspire modern poets, authors, film makers, and artists. Some of literature’s most famous and often quoted lines may be found in this collection by a true master of verse. Frost taught English for many years and encouraged his students to capture the various inflections, tones, and cadences of the spoken English language in his writing, an approach he perfected in his own work and referred to as “the sound of sense”. This timeless collection belongs in the library of everyone who appreciates American literature and poetry. This edition includes the woodcut illustrations by J. J. Lankes which appeared in the first edition.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDigireads.com Publishing
    Release dateJan 16, 2020
    ISBN9781420972542
    Author

    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.

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      Book preview

      New Hampshire - Robert Frost

      cover.jpgimg1.png

      New Hampshire

      By Robert Frost

      Woodcuts by J. J. Lankes

      eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-7254-2

      This edition copyright © 2021. Digireads.com Publishing.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

      Please visit www.digireads.com

      img2.png

      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 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

      Our Singing Strength

      The Lockless Door

      The Need of Being Versed in Country Things

      img3.pngimg4.png

      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{1} 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,

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