Great Graves: Robert Frost

          I had been to Robert Frost’s grave before, but never in snow, and he’s always struck me most as a winter poet. Yes, he addresses autumns and apples and mud season and boys swinging on birches on warm summer days, but so much of his work is in winter—the woods where he stops on a snowy evening, the old man alone on a winter night, the patch of old ...

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