New Hampshire Robert Frost (books you need to read TXT) š
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- Author: Robert Frost
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By Robert Frost.
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New HampshireI met a lady from the South who said
(You wonāt believe she said it, but she said it):
āNone of my family ever worked, or had
A thing to sell.ā I donāt suppose the work
Much matters. You may work for all of me.
Iāve seen the time Iāve had to work myself.
The having anything to sell1 is what
Is the disgrace in man or state or nation.
I met a traveller from Arkansas
Who boasted of his state as beautiful
For diamonds and apples. āDiamonds
And apples in commercial quantities?ā
I asked him, on my guard. āOh yes,ā he answered,
Off his. The time was evening in the Pullman.
āI see the porterās made your bed,ā I told him.
I met a Californian who would
Talk Californiaā āa state so blessed,
He said, in climate none had ever died there
A natural death, and Vigilance Committees
Had had to organize to stock the graveyards
And vindicate the stateās humanity.
āJust the way Steffanson runs on,ā I murmured,
āAbout the British Arctic. Thatās what comes
Of being in the market with a climate.ā
I met a poet from another state,
A zealot full of fluid inspiration,
Who in the name of fluid inspiration,
But in the best style of bad salesmanship,
Angrily tried to make me write a protest
(In verse I think) against the Volstead Act.
He didnāt even offer me a drink
Until I asked for one to steady him.
This is called having an idea to sell.
It never could have happened in New Hampshire.
The only person really soiled with trade
I ever stumbled on in old New Hampshire
Was someone who had just come back ashamed
From selling things in California.
Heād built a noble mansard roof with balls
On turrets like Constantinople, deep
In woods some ten miles from a railroad station,
As if to put forever out of mind
The hope of being, as we say, received.
I found him standing at the close of day
Inside the threshold of his open barn,
Like a lone actor on a gloomy stageā ā
And recognized him through the iron grey
In which his face was muffled to the eyes
As an old boyhood friend, and once indeed
A drover with me on the road to Brighton.
His farm was āgrounds,ā and not a farm at all;
His house among the local sheds and shanties
Rose like a factorās at a trading station.
And he was rich, and I was still a rascal.
I couldnāt keep from asking impolitely,
Where had he been and what had he been doing?
How did he get so? (Rich was understood.)
In dealing in āold ragsā in San Francisco.
Oh it was terrible as well could be.
We both of us turned over in our graves.
Just specimens is all New Hampshire has,
One each of everything as in a show-case
Which naturally she doesnāt care to sell.
She had one President (pronounce him Purse,
And make the most of it for better or worse.
Heās your one chance to score against the state).
She had one Daniel Webster. He was all
The Daniel Webster ever was or shall be.
She had the Dartmouth needed to produce him.
I call her old. She has one family
Whose claim is good to being settled here
Before the era of colonization,
And before that of exploration even.
John Smith remarked them as he coasted by
Dangling their legs and fishing off a wharf
At the Isles of Shoals, and satisfied himself
They werenāt Red Indians but veritable
Pre-primitives of the white race, dawn people,
Like those who furnished Adamās sons with wives;
However uninnocent they may have been
In being there so early in our history.
Theyād been there then a hundred years or more.
Pity he didnāt ask what they were up to
At that date with a wharf already built,
And take their name. Theyāve since told me their nameā ā
Today an honored one in Nottingham.
As for what they were up to more than fishingā ā
Suppose they werenāt behaving Puritanly,
The hour had not yet struck for being good,
Mankind had not yet gone on the Sabbatical.
It became an explorer of the deep
Not to explore too deep in othersā business.
Did you but know of him, New Hampshire has
One real reformer who would change the world
So it would be accepted by two classes,
Artists the minute they
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