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"When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloudAnd goes down burning into the gulf below,No voice in nature is heard to cry aloudAt what has happened. Birds, at least must knowIt is the change to darkness in the sky.Murmuring something quiet in her breast,One bird begins to close a faded eye;Or overtaken too far from his nest,Hurrying low above the grove, some waifSwoops just in time to his remembered tree.At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!Now let the night be dark for all of me.Let the night be too dark for me to seeInto the future. Let what will be, be."
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"Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloud cover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because it's heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes. Wool blanket."
"These woods are lovely, dark and deep,But I have promises to keep,And miles to go before I sleep,And miles to go before I sleep."
"Put your ears to the ground, to the sky, to the sun and the moon... tune in to Mother Earth's sweet song. She has messages to say, knowledge to relay, inspiration to convey... there is much for you to learn. Your journey has just begun."
"What branch does not have its leaves and which twig will not have its flowers?"
"Can I tell from the twilight from which the world is built that I am a sunrise in this life?"
"Smell is a potent wizard that transports you across thousands of miles and all the years you have lived."
"Be thankful for every mountain, because it's the mountain top that will give you best view of the world."
Explore more quotes by Robert Frost
"It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage..."
"These woods are lovely, dark and deep,But I have promises to keep,And miles to go before I sleep,And miles to go before I sleep."
"I have wished a bird would fly away,And not sing by my house all day;Have clapped my hands at him from the doorWhen it seemed as if I could bear no more.The fault must partly have been in me.The bird was not to blame for his keys.And of course there must be something wrongIn waiting to silence any song."
"A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness."
"The mind-is not the heart.I may yet live, as I know others live,To wish in vain to let go with the mind-Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells meThat I need learn to let go with the heart."
"The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom... in a clarification of life - not necessarily a great clarification, such as sects and cults are founded on, but in a momentary stay against confusion."
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