When the world gets too still for you, The night wind would call, warm, sweet, and alone; To flutter its flute, and blithe to rest your mind, On quiet notes of nature’s calling wood.

Go here where open skies take you where it feels, To draw the horizons through golden fields at dawn, The fields that know the sunbeams that lay still inside, And soon grow green as time spreads softly on.

The woods serene smiles my gentle concern, So far from comforts gained from time befell. And everywhere you see the shapes would twinkle, A life and peace will hold within this bell.

• Robert Frost