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Now close the windows and hush all the fields: If the trees must, let them silently toss.

Robert Frost

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Robert Frost
Age: 88 †
Born: 1874
Born: March 26
Died: 1963
Died: January 29
Pedagogue
Playwright
Poet
Writer
San Francisco County
California
Robert Lee Frost
Window
Fields
Close
Silence
Hush
Tree
Silently
Must
Toss
Windows
Trees

More quotes by Robert Frost

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I have wished a bird would fly away, And not sing by my house all day Have clapped my hands at him from the door When 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 key. And of course there must be something wrong In wanting to silence any song.
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A true sonnet goes eight lines and then takes a turn for better or worse and goes six or eight lines more.
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There are two kinds of teachers: the kind that fill you with so much quail shot that you can't move, and the kind that just gives you a little prod behind and you jump to the skies.
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There is no love. There's only love of men and women, love Of children, love of friends, of men, of God: Divine love, human love, parental love, Roughly discriminated for the rough.
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You have freedom when you're easy in your harness.
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I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate wilfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better.
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It is absurd to think that the only way to tell if a poem is lasting is to wait and see if it lasts. The right reader of a good poem can tell the moment it strikes him that he has taken an immortal wound-that he will never get over it.
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The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.
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You, of course, are a rose-- But were always a rose.
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Any work of art must first of all tell a story.
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Nature is always hinting at us.
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If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane.
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You know how cunningly mankind is planned: We have one loving and one hating hand. The loving's made to hold each other like, While with the hating other hand we strike.
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No memory of having starred atones for later disregard, or keeps the end from being hard.
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Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear And once that seemed too much I lived on air.
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We're either nothing or a God's regret.
Robert Frost
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But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.
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The style is the man. Rather say the style is the way the man takes himself and to be at all charming or even bearable, the way is almost rigidly prescribed. If it is with outer seriousness, it must be with inner humor. If it is with outer humor, it must be with inner seriousness. No other way will do.
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One age is like another for the soul.
Robert Frost
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Poetry is the renewal of words, setting them free, and that's what a poet is doing: loosening the words.
Robert Frost