March Evening
Blue through the window burns the twilight; Heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind. Glistening, against the chill, gray sky light, Wet, black branches are barred and entwined. Sodden and spongy, the scarce-green
Venetian Glass
As one who sails upon a wide, blue sea Far out of sight of land, his mind intent Upon the sailing of his little boat, On tightening ropes and shaping fair his course, Hears
Pickthorn Manor
I How fresh the Dartle’s little waves that day! A Steely silver, underlined with blue, And flashing where the round clouds, blown away, Let drop the Yellow sunshine to gleam through And tip the
To an Early Daffodil
Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring! Thou herald of rich Summer’s myriad flowers! The climbing sun with new recovered powers Does warm thee into being, through the ring Of rich, brown earth he woos
Monadnock in Early Spring
Cloud-topped and splendid, dominating all The little lesser hills which compass thee, Thou standest, bright with April’s buoyancy, Yet holding Winter in some shaded wall Of stern, steep rock; and startled by the call
The Starling
“‘I can’t get Out’, said the starling.” Sterne’s ‘Sentimental Journey’. Forever the impenetrable wall Of self confines my poor rebellious soul, I never see the towering white clouds roll Before a sturdy wind, save
The Paper Windmill
The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane And looked out At the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of The square Glistened like mica. In the trees, a breeze danced and Pranced, And
A Tale of Starvation
There once was a man whom the gods didn’t love, And a disagreeable man was he. He loathed his neighbours, and his neighbours hated him, And he cursed eternally. He damned the sun, and
Dreams
I do not care to talk to you although Your speech evokes a thousand sympathies, And all my being’s silent harmonies Wake trembling into music. When you go It is as if some sudden,
Miscast II
My heart is like a cleft pomegranate Bleeding crimson seeds And dripping them on the ground. My heart gapes because it is ripe and over-full, And its seeds are bursting from it. But how
Reaping
You want to know what’s the matter with me, do yer? My! ain’t men blinder’n moles? It ain’t nothin’ new, be sure o’ that. Why, ef you’d had eyes you’d ha’ seed Me changin’
The Pike
In the brown water, Thick and silver-sheened in the sunshine, Liquid and cool in the shade of the reeds, A pike dozed. Lost among the shadows of stems He lay unnoticed. Suddenly he flicked
The Grocery
“Hullo, Alice!” “Hullo, Leon!” “Say, Alice, gi’ me a couple O’ them two for five cigars, Will yer?” “Where’s your nickel?” “My! Ain’t you close! Can’t trust a feller, can yer.” “Trust you! Why