From the clear cobalt sky The winds of fall blow Bringing with it the honking of geese Twisting my hair into my eyes
This poem is among my favorites. Robert Frost has an amazing skill of being able to draw his reader into his work as if you were really there and experiencing what is written on the paper. It is as if the words themselves morph into a story. His word choice is simple and not overdone, and the story line has a homely streak to it. When you read this, you get a strong sense of calm, just like there is in the woods at twilight, filling up with the winter’s snow. There is a hushed sense of excitement, which somehow Frost was able to put on paper.
The firmament is fanned by fiery flames Giving off a glaring gleam. Rooftops which once rose are razed; Smoke swirls with sooty steam. Somewhere stays some sorry, sick, Rogue Roman renegade, A criminal, conniver, and canny con. This man, the mad fire, made.