Frost asks a gentle, half-teasing question: why do we make so much of small scraps of blue—a bird, a butterfly, a flower, a blue stone, an open eye—when the sky offers blue in enormous, solid sheets? The speaker sounds curious and slightly amused, not scolding. In the second stanza, he hints at an answer. Earth is not heaven yet, however much some thinkers try to include the sky in it. The blue far above us is so high and distant that it only sharpens our hunger for blue rather than satisfying it. The little blues here on earth are close, fleeting, and rare enough to feel precious. The mood is thoughtful and quietly playful, with a wistful edge: we often treasure the small, touchable piece more than the vast, perfect thing we cannot reach.
Fragmentary Blue — Summary
Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?
Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)-- Though some savants make earth include the sky; And blue so far above us comes so high, It only gives our wish for blue a whet.