Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day,
I paused and said, 'I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther—and we shall see.'
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
One foot went through. The view was all in lines
Straight up and down of tall slim trees
Too much alike to mark or name a place by
So as to say for certain I was here
Or somewhere else: I was just far from home.
A small bird flew before me. He was careful
To put a tree between us when he lighted,
And say no word to tell me who he was
Who was so foolish as to think what he thought.
He thought that I was after him for a feather—
The white one in his tail; like one who takes
Everything said as personal to himself.
One flight out sideways would have undeceived him.
And then there was a pile of wood for which
I forgot him and let his little fear
Carry him off the way I might have gone,
Without so much as wishing him good-night.
He went behind it to make his last stand.
It was a cord of maple, cut and split
And piled—and measured, four by four by eight.
And not another like it could I see.
No runner tracks in this year's snow looped near it.
And it was older sure than this year's cutting,
Or even last year's or the year's before.
The wood was gray and the bark warping off it
And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis
Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle.
What held it though on one side was a tree
Still growing, and on one a stake and prop,
These latter about to fall. I thought that only
Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks
Could so forget his handiwork on which
He spent himself, the labor of his ax,
And leave it there far from a useful fireplace
To warm the frozen swamp as best it could
With the slow smokeless burning of decay.
The Wood-Pile by Robert frost is about a man walking walking somewhere it doesn't really tell us where he is going or where he is at. However this man in the poem is walking and his far really far from his home and he see's a bird. This bird approaches him caution like it doesn't want to close to the guy in the poem about also it does. Its almost like it wants to show something, This poem was written in a first person point of view as if the speaker was their and I think that how its was. He is talking about the swamp he had to go through and this journey he's taking that is far away from his home. He later then comes across a pile of wood that's set neatly and its in a perfect size. He was surprised by it because who would go through the time to do such a thing and let it decay.
When you first read The Wood Pile you may think its actually about a pile of wood but once you reread it and try to comprehend what its saying then you'll notice what its actually talking about. When the speaker came across the pile of wood its not any normal wood one just see's in the swamp, its maple wood and that is expensive and its rare to find in that area. My per-knowledge on Robert Frost tells me that he loves to write about nature a lot.
The speaker was fascinated by the pile of wood. I think the pile of wood means more then just a simply pile of wood, like for example I noticed the speaker was also fascinated by the bird that flew by him. Robert Frost loves to talk about nature in his poems and he made his poem and the speaker in the poem be really into nature to. The speaker loved the bird and wanted to know more about it and why it flew away probably because of it was afraid of the speaker trying to take its feather. Then again the speaker was also afraid of being far away from home and walking in the in this frozen swamp. Then I realized the guy could have left but decide to stay and continue his journey somewhere and doesn't say where because he is curious on what is ahead of him. He is just like the person who have chopped the wood and left it there. This poem is a whole mystery like you can think about why the speaker or aye man did what they did, and its about nature too just as Robert Frost intended it to be.