To E. T.

By Robert Frost 1874–1963 Robert Frost
I slumbered with your poems on my breast
Spread open as I dropped them half-read through
Like dove wings on a figure on a tomb
To see, if in a dream they brought of you,

I might not have the chance I missed in life
Through some delay, and call you to your face
First soldier, and then poet, and then both,
Who died a soldier-poet of your race.

I meant, you meant, that nothing should remain
Unsaid between us, brother, and this remained—
And one thing more that was not then to say:
The Victory for what it lost and gained.

You went to meet the shell's embrace of fire
On Vimy Ridge; and when you fell that day
The war seemed over more for you than me,
But now for me than you—the other way.

How over, though, for even me who knew
The foe thrust back unsafe beyond the Rhine,
If I was not to speak of it to you
And see you pleased once more with words of mine?

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Poet Robert Frost 1874–1963

POET’S REGION U.S., New England

Subjects Death, Sorrow & Grieving, Reading & Books, Relationships, Arts & Sciences, Time & Brevity, War & Conflict, Poetry & Poets, Social Commentaries, Living, Friends & Enemies

Poetic Terms Rhymed Stanza, Elegy

 Robert  Frost

Biography

Robert Frost holds a unique and almost isolated position in American letters. “Though his career fully spans the modern period and though it is impossible to speak of him as anything other than a modern poet,” writes James M. Cox, “it is difficult to place him in the main tradition of modern poetry.” In a sense, Frost stands at the crossroads of 19th-century American poetry and modernism, for in his verse may be found the . . .

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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