One of my plans for this year is to read more poetry, as poetry is something nice to read which can also be enjoyed in small doses. And there is loads published online. So I figured I might as well post a few as I find them, to share the fun

Robert Frost (1874–1963)

Perhaps the most popular and beloved of 20th-century American poets, Frost wrote of the character, people, and landscape of New England. In 1912 he went to England, where he received his first acclaim as a poet. After the publication of A Boy’s Will (1913) and North of Boston (1914), he returned to the United States, settling on a farm near Franconia, N.H.

An Old Man’s Winter Night


ALL out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.      
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him—at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again      
In clomping off;—and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself      
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
So late-arising, to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case      
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.      
One aged man—one man—can’t fill a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It’s thus he does it of a winter night.

read more @ http://www.bartleby.com/people/Frost-Ro.html