For once, then, something
Robert Lee Frost was born on 26 March 1874 in San Francisco, California, US, and he died on 29 January 1963 in Boston, Massachusetts, US, at the age of 88.
A poet and playwright, Frost was published in England before he was published in the US. Known for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech, he frequently wrote about settings from rural life in New England in the early 20th century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes.
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Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs Always wrong to the light, so never seeing Deeper down in the well than where the water Gives me back in a shining surface picture Me myself in the summer heaven godlike Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs. Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb, I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture, Through the picture, a something white, uncertain, Something more of the depths — and then I lost it. Water came to rebuke the too clear water. One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom, Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness? Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.