Wednesday, January 13, 2010


When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud

And goes down burning into the gulf below,

No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud

At what has happened.

Birds, at least must know

It 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 waif Swoops 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 see

Into the future.

Let what will be, be.'

by Robert Frost


  1. As dusk approaches here, I can't help but repeat what Teresa said, Utter Perfection. My husband and I visited Frost's grave site in New England once. A snowy day. Dusk coming. All very quiet. A very simple grave. A very profound man. We stood quietly as the light snow fell. And felt his simplicity and his greatness. Thank you for this post!

  2. I love Robert Frost's work,so glad to share xx