My favourite poet

"Words in themselves do not convey meaning" this statement was said by the famous poet Robert Frost when he tried to explain the importance of the sense of sound. I chose Robert Frost as my favourite poet because his poems are very interesting. They are often set in the more rural areas and also, his poems are very closely in touch with nature. Robert's works were most probably inspired by his daily life and also his many experiences in life. He collected many different experiences while working as he had worked in many different professions before. His professions range from being a farmer to a teacher. Robert loved language and the crafting of it. As poetry was supposed to be the highest art of language, it enticed him. Robert was a poet very closed in touch with nature both in his poems and even his daily life. Robert Frost was born in San Francisco. Although his works were associated with rural life, Robert Frost was brought up in the city. After he attended Darthmouth College, he held a large number of jobs. He even worked in a textile mill. Many of his poems were drawn from his own life, everyday tasks and also his recurrent losses. When Robert moved to England, he was inspired by many of the poets there like Rupert Brook. He also taught at Amherst College and Michigan universities. Many of the poems Robert wrote depicted the farms and fields that he had own throughout his whole life.
Robert Frost wrote many poems in his life. Some of the poems are "mowing", "into my own" and "stars".

Mowing
There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered?
I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound--
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers(Pale orchises),
and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

Into my own
One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some dayInto their vastness
I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e'er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him the knew--
Only more sure of all I though was true.

Stars
How countlessly they congregate
O'er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!--
As if with keeness for our fate,
Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
Invisible at dawn,--
And yet with neither love nor hate,
Those starts like somw snow-white
Minerva's snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight.

Bibliography
http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/robert_frost/biography
http://www.ketzle.com/frost/
http://www.frostfriends.org/frostfaq.html
http://www.frostfriends.org/frostfaq.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Frost
http://www.bestoffrost.com/
http://www.internal.org/list_poems.phtml?authorID=7