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| Robert Frost, between 1910 and 1920. Library of Congress. Public domain. |
In London, the young American poet Ezra Pound took him up and reviewed him with enthusiasm. Pound also liked to tease him, and once demonstrated jujitsu on him in a restaurant, throwing him over his head.
A second book, North of Boston, followed in 1914. Its poems were full of New England farmers, hired men and neighbours, speaking in plain, everyday voices.
In England, Frost also found his closest friend, the Welsh-English writer Edward Thomas. The two men took long walks through the Gloucestershire countryside. Thomas had a habit of choosing a path, then regretting he had not taken the other one.
Frost turned that habit into a poem. It ends with the most famous lines he ever wrote.
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“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”
Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken,” 1915
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Read it closely, though… a few lines earlier, the speaker admits that the two roads were worn “really about the same.” And he says he will tell this story later “with a sigh.” In other words, the poem that people quote as a hymn to bold choices was partly a gentle joke about a friend who could never decide.
When the First World War made life in England difficult, the Frosts sailed home in 1915. Frost arrived to find himself famous. And in August that year, The Road Not Taken was first published in America, in The Atlantic Monthly, the same magazine that had turned him down.
He went on to win the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry four times. In January 1961, at 86, he read a poem from memory at the inauguration of President John F. Kennedy, after the winter glare made it impossible to read the new one he had written for the day.
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| Robert Frost in 1961, the year of the Kennedy inauguration. Photo: Walter Albertin, New York World-Telegram. Library of Congress. |
He died in Boston in January 1963. Today his poems are among the best known in American literature.
For years I quoted those last three lines as advice for my career, the way most people do. Then I read the whole poem aloud and heard the sigh. It made me like it more. Most of our big choices look obvious only when we tell the story afterwards.
For a sharp look at Frost the man, through his letters, the Poetry Foundation’s essay is excellent: The Man and the Manners →
The Atlantic had no place for his vigorous verse in 1912. Three years later, it printed the poem that would make him immortal… the road not taken, after all, led straight back to its door.
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