Robert Frost’s “The Gift Outright” possesses an undeniable musicality. Lines like, “…we found out that it was ourselves / We were withholding from our land of living, / And forthwith found salvation in surrender,” are designed to be spoken aloud, their rhythm and repetition creating a seductive cadence. The poem’s grandeur, its exploration of national identity and destiny, further contributes to its compelling nature, even as its underlying premise proves deeply problematic. Frost suggests that Americans, linked mystically to the legacy of the early colonists, can achieve “salvation in surrender” – a notion that equates surrendering to the land, the continent, with enacting freedom, breaking free from imperial possession only to be possessed by a seemingly more natural, yet equally controlling, force.
This poem, “The Gift Outright,” famously resonated at John F. Kennedy’s inauguration. At that historical juncture, its inherent ambiguities concerning the American project were conveniently overlooked, overshadowed by sentiments that seamlessly merged Manifest Destiny with a pervasive belief in inevitable progress. There’s a persistent desire to believe that historical injustices, the accumulation of land and power, will naturally transmute into future moral righteousness. This is a complex and, in some respects, precarious belief, especially when considered alongside a contemporary America often fixated on celebrity culture and sensationalism. Yet, this belief finds resonance with serious students who recognize the transformative power of literature and seek out informed perspectives, valuing intellectual honesty as a refreshing contrast to the often shallow and inflammatory discourse of social media.
However, this desire to believe in the transcendence of past moral wrongs, while perhaps a necessary component of national identity, carries inherent risks. It becomes dangerously easy to interpret Frost’s inclusive “we” as encompassing all Americans, irrespective of background, when the poem’s historical context and underlying assumptions clearly exclude many. For critical readers, “The Gift Outright” serves as a cautionary tale. An excessive focus on a foundational myth can obscure and ultimately distort the complex realities of history. It’s far from clear that those who genuinely strived to make America inclusive and equitable for all could be said to have “found salvation in surrender.” Their narratives are far too nuanced and multifaceted to be flattened into Frost’s patriotic, yet ultimately reductive, hymn.
<b>The Gift Outright</b> <em>Robert Frost</em> The land was ours before we were the land’s. She was our land more than a hundred years Before we were her people. She was ours In Massachusetts, in Virginia, But we were England’s, still colonials, Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed. Something we were withholding made us weak Until we found out that it was ourselves We were withholding from our land of living, And forthwith found salvation in surrender. Such as we were we gave ourselves outright (The deed of gift was many deeds of war) To the land vaguely realizing westward, But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced, Such as she was, such as she would become.A central question persists: Why can’t Frost’s “we” truly be universal? Why can’t the legacy of the American Revolution, with all its complexities, be a shared heritage? Why can’t the “mystic chords of memory” resonate across generations and diverse experiences? Reading the opening lines, one might briefly be drawn into the romantic vision of early America:
The land was ours before we were the land’s.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England’s, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
It’s tempting to see continuity, to argue that we still inhabit places like Massachusetts and Virginia, still grapple with the meaning of freedom in a post-colonial world, and still contemplate our relationship with the land. What’s inherently flawed in aspiring to become “her [the land’s] people?” Why can’t the very incompleteness of the statement “The land was ours before we were the land’s” be a source of inspiration, a call to ongoing progress?
While acknowledging the initial allure of these lines, it’s crucial to recognize their profound historical omissions. To focus solely on their poetic beauty is to neglect a critical examination of their underlying assumptions. These lines rely on a romanticized image of early Americans as deeply connected to the land, to an extent that blurs the horrific reality of their dispossession and violence against Indigenous populations. The poem’s flaw isn’t merely overlooking genocide and slavery; it necessitates a vision of early Americans making a moral choice akin to ancient Israel, choosing between being like other nations or placing faith solely in the sanctity of law. (Echoing Thomas Paine’s sentiment: “in America the law is king.”)
This interpretation might resonate with those immersed in Christian nationalism, where selective biblical and Founding Fathers’ quotes are perpetually presented without context. However, for critically thinking individuals, it’s readily apparent where the poem falters. While acknowledging the bravery in challenging British rule and the aspiration for expanded rights, and the intellectualism of the era, the poem equates these with “a mystical union with the land.” Is this mystical union truly comparable to the emphasis on private property and a constitutional framework that, as Federalist 51 suggests, encourages ambition and, arguably, self-interest?
The poem conspicuously omits the often-petty realities of early America, a pettiness intrinsically linked to Constitutionalism itself. The revolutionary ideal was the rejection of aristocracy and nobility, the embrace of a democracy concerned with tangible, everyday issues—functional infrastructure and basic civic needs, not abstract notions of mystical unions. In contemporary terms, America at its best embodies a rejection of pretense, a commitment to authenticity.
Frost’s poem ultimately fails as mythmaking because its historical vision is excessively sanitized and simplistic. More significantly, it offers no genuine insight or deeper understanding. In contrast, thinkers like Nietzsche and Heidegger, while also engaging with foundational myths, do so with far greater depth and analytical rigor. Heidegger, for instance, in “Building Dwelling Thinking,” meticulously examines the profound ways in which land shapes and orients human existence. While “The Gift Outright” is a single poem, it provides no compelling justification for this “surrender to the land,” offering only vague promises of future greatness.
The concluding lines of “The Gift Outright” are undeniably evocative, conveying a sense of westward movement and shifting perspectives. However, their very vagueness becomes a significant weakness, merely hinting at the violence, cruelty, and injustice that have too often accompanied America’s westward expansion:
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.
The fundamental problem lies in the poem’s reliance on a flawed and incomplete myth. Did Americans truly “give ourselves outright” to a “land vaguely realizing westward?” History suggests a narrative of conquest, dispossession, and exploitation. In a contemporary context, particularly in regions reliant on resource extraction, land is often viewed through a purely transactional lens, prioritized for its economic potential, even at the expense of environmental degradation.
Furthermore, figures like Harriet Tubman, who dedicated their lives to fighting for justice and liberation, defy the poem’s central metaphor. Their commitment was to people and principles, not abstract notions of surrendering to the land. The ongoing struggle for equitable access to housing and basic necessities in America highlights the poem’s disconnect from lived reality. Land is too often treated as a commodity, a source of wealth and privilege, rather than a fundamental human need. “The Gift Outright,” in this light, feels particularly dissonant in a nation grappling with issues of inequality and access to land itself.
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