More than anything perhaps [the title poem of "New Hampshire"] resembles a journey across country in the company of a wise, shrewd, humorous person with an uncommon gift of common speech…. And at the end of the journey—or rather when the horse stops, for there is a lot more to see, we have been across a whole state, and overheard a race of men, and been amused, and informed, and disillusioned, and enchanted. The voice which talks to us does so in an easy, unhurried monotone, never dull, never lifted, never strained; now it is speaking prose, now doggerel, now verse, now poetry. (pp. 58-9)

Maybe this is not [all] poetry. But does that matter? Or does it matter very much that so many of Mr. Frost's lines sound as if they had been overheard in a telephone booth….

"New Hampshire" is just like an old, wandering...