To the Thawing Wind
COME with rain. O loud Southwester! Bring the singer, bring the nester; Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snowbank steam; Find the brown beneath the white; But whate’er you do tonight,
Snow
The three stood listening to a fresh access Of wind that caught against the house a moment, Gulped snow, and then blew free again-the Coles Dressed, but dishevelled from some hours of sleep, Meserve
Sand Dunes
Sea waves are green and wet, But up from where they die, Rise others vaster yet, And those are brown and dry. They are the sea made land To come at the fisher town,
Tree At My Window
Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me. Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground, And thing
The Demiurge's Laugh
It was far in the sameness of the wood; I was running with joy on the Demon’s trail, Though I knew what I hunted was no true god. I was just as the light
A Fountain, a Bottle, a Donkey's Ears, and Some Books
Old Davis owned a solid mica mountain In Dalton that would someday make his fortune. There’d been some Boston people out to see it: And experts said that deep down in the mountain The
The Gum-Gatherer
There overtook me and drew me in To his down-hill, early-morning stride, And set me five miles on my road Better than if he had had me ride, A man with a swinging bag
A Prayer in Spring
OH, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year. Oh, give
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent
The Aim was Song
Before man came to blow it right The wind once blew itself untaught, And did its loudest day and night In any rough place where it caught. Man came to tell it what was
Storm Fear
WHEN the wind works against us in the dark, And pelts with snow The lowest chamber window on the east, And whispers with a sort of stifled bark, The beast, ‘Come out! Come out!’
The Vanishing Red
He is said to have been the last Red man In Action. And the Miller is said to have laughed If you like to call such a sound a laugh. But he gave no
The Cocoon
As far as I can see this autumn haze That spreading in the evening air both way, Makes the new moon look anything but new, And pours the elm-tree meadow full of blue, Is
The Birthplace
Here further up the mountain slope Than there was every any hope, My father built, enclosed a spring, Strung chains of wall round everything, Subdued the growth of earth to grass, And brought our
The Pasture
I’m going out to clean the pasture spring; I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I shan’t be gone long. You come too. I’m