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Robert Frost - Riders

The surest thing there is is we are riders,
And though none too successful at it, guiders,
Through everything presented, land and tide
And now the very air, of what we ride.

What is this talked-of mystery of birth
But being mounted bareback on the earth?
We can just see the infant up astride,
His small fist buried in the bushy hide.

There is our wildest mount--a headless horse.
But though it runs unbridled off its course,
And all our blandishments would seem defied,
We have ideas yet that we haven't tried.

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Added: Feb 1 2004 | Viewed: 4450 times | Comments and analysis of Riders by Robert Frost Comments (69)

Riders - Comments and Information

Poet: Robert Frost
Poem: 37. Riders
Volume: West-Running Brook
Year: Published/Written in 1928
Poem of the Day: Mar 23 2011

Comment 69 of 69, added on January 1st, 2016 at 4:34 PM.


LxluVomZImwMxKjj from Netherlands
Comment 68 of 69, added on January 1st, 2016 at 11:45 AM.


VrbqmnrpHLqkiOgrRcg from Brunei Darussalam, Negara
Comment 67 of 69, added on November 8th, 2015 at 8:10 PM.

iMyZby Say, you got a nice blog post.Much thanks again. Awesome.

crork service seo from Czech Republic

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