March 26, 1874- January 29, 1963
Born in San Francisco, California
Robert Frost was born in San Francisco, California, to journalist William Prescott Frost, Jr., and Isabelle Moodie. His mother was of Scottish descent, and his father descended from Nicholas Frost of Tiverton, Devon, England, who had sailed to New Hampshire in 1634 on the Wolfrana.
Frost's father was a teacher and an editor of the San Francisco Evening Bulletin. After his father's death in May 5, 1885, Frost's family moved across the country to Lawrence, Massachusetts with the financial support of Robert's grandfather, William Frost, Sr., who was an overseer at a New England mill. Frost graduated from Lawrence High School in 1892. His mother joined the Swedenborgian church and had him baptized in it, but Frost left it in later years.
In 1894 he sold his first poem, "My Butterfly: An Elegy, for 15 dollars. Being very proud of this accomplishment he decided to propose to Eleanor Miriam White, but she wanted to finish college first. Robert White tried again later and she accepted it and they were married at Harvard University. He wrote his first book in England which was published a year later, and he met many well known writers, Edward Thomas, T.E. Hulme, and Ezra Pound. When World War I started, Frost moved back to America, where he bought a farm and made a living off of teaching and writing. When he was 86, he read some of his poetry at President John F. Kennedy's inauguration. Sadly one year later he died because of a surgery complication.
A Boundless Moment
He halted in the wind, and - what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.
'Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom,' I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.
We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on) .
A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves. Robert Frost