Word: frosted
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Reuben A. Brower, Master of Adams House, announced that several more distinguished persons, besides Robert Frost, have agreed to be resident visitors...
Starting with review by the editor of Atlantic's impressive past, in which the mystical names of James Russell Lowell, Bliss Perry, Ellery Sedgwick, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, and William Dean Howells figure as editors, the issue goes on to new material by past contributors. Frost, Marquand, Hemingway, Thurber, Berenson, Morison, Isak Dinesen, President Conant, Jung, Slichter, Niebuhr, Osbert and Edith Sitwell, Auden, Wilder, McGinley, R. P. Lister, and the late Max Beerbohm march with deserved pomp and circumstance through the table of contents...
...Robert Frost intones flippantly in his latest attempt to still the clatter of the Machine Age and to put man in his proper place. Summer Slichter, not in the realm of morality, but certainly in the musty halls of tradition, takes a well-aimed iconoclastic swing at Keynesian economics. If his argument is not convincing to the conditioned minds of the New Deal, it represents a refreshing conservatism, too seldom well expounded...
...Every time Robert Frost comes to town," wrote the New York Times's Washington bureau chief, James ("Scotty") Reston, "the Washington Monument stands up a little straighter." Flinty old (83) Poet Frost proved to Pundit Reston that he is no slacker at punditry himself. Frost welcomes the struggle and decision-making that make life tough-and neither the Russians, nor their satellites (terrestrial or spatial) upset him a bit: "We ought to enjoy a standoff. Let it stand and deepen in meaning. Let's not be hasty about showdowns. Let's be patient and confident with...
Williams seemed to want to purvey the image of our century's archetypal poet, a very complicated and often irresponsible but enchanting man as good, old, sweet, kind and tolerant Dylan, poet and good fellow, a few steps away from Mr. Chips or Robert Frost or De Lawd in Green Pastures. In short, Mr. Williams's choice of material and his rendition of it have a tinge of the sacdharine as well as a bit of pleasant nostalgia which fail in part to hit the personality of the man or be very characteristic of his work...