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Robert Frost Quotes about Running

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The woods are lovely, dark, and deep but I have promises to keep...

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep but I have promises to keep...

Robert Frost
Tattoo, Running, Taken
"Stopping byWoods on a Snowy Evening" l. 13 (1923)

Our life runs down in sending up the clock. The brook runs down in sending up our life. The sun runs down in sending up the brook. And there is something sending up the sun.

Robert Frost
Life, Running, Sun
Robert Frost (1955). “Selected poems”

It was far in the sameness of the wood; I was running with joy on the Demon's trail, Though I knew what I hunted was no true god.

Robert Frost
God, Running, Joy
Robert Frost (2012). “A Boy's Will and North of Boston”, p.21, Courier Corporation

GATHERING LEAVES Spades take up leaves No better than spoons, And bags full of leaves Are light as balloons. I make a great noise Of rustling all day Like rabbit and deer Running away. But the mountains I raise Elude my embrace, Flowing over my arms And into my face. I may load and unload Again and again Till I fill the whole shed, And what have I then? Next to nothing for weight, And since they grew duller From contact with earth, Next to nothing for color. Next to nothing for use. But a crop is a crop, And who's to say where The harvest shall stop?

Robert Frost
Running, Light, Color
Robert Frost (1963). “Selected poems”

Our life runs down in sending up the clock. The brook runs down in sending up our life. The sun runs down in sending up the brook. And there is something sending up the sun. It is this backward motion toward the source, Against the stream, that most we see ourselves in, The tribute of the current to the source. It is from this in nature we are from. It is most us.

Robert Frost
Running, Sun, Clock
928 'West-Running Brook'.

To Time it never seems that he is brave To set himself against the peaks of snow To lay them level with the running wave, Nor is he overjoyed when they lie low, But only grave, contemplative and grave.

Robert Frost
Running, Lying, Snow
Robert Frost (1963). “Selected poems”

Nothing not built with hands of course is sacred. But here is not a question of what's sacred; Rather of what to face or run away from. I'd hate to be a runaway from nature.

Robert Frost
Running, Nature, Hate
Robert Frost (1955). “Selected poems”

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