#1916 #AmericanWriters #MountainInterval
When the wind works against us in… And pelts with snow The lowest chamber window on the e… And whispers with a sort of stifle… The beast,
As vain to raise a voice as a sigh In the tumult of free leaves on hi… What are you in the shadow of tree… Engaged up there with the light an… Less than the coral-root you know
We asked for rain. It didn’t flas… It didn’t lose its temper at our d… And blow a gale. It didn’t misund… And give us more than our spokesma… And just because we owned to a wis…
My Sorrow, when she’s here with m… Thinks these dark days of autumn r… Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered t… She walks the sodden pasture lane.
I found a dimpled spider, fat and… On a white heal-all, holding up a… Like a white piece of rigid satin… Assorted characters of death and b… Mixed ready to begin the morning r…
We saw leaves go to glory, Then almost migratory Go part way down the lane, And then to end the story Get beaten down and pasted
For Lincoln MacVeagh Never tell me that not one star of… That slip from heaven at night and… Has been picked up with stones to… Some laborer found one faded and s…
She drew back; he was calm: “It is this that had the power.” And he lashed his open palm With the tender-headed flower. He smiled for her to smile,
By June our brook’s run out of so… Sought for much after that, it wil… Either to have gone groping underg… (And taken with it all the Hyla b… That shouted in the mist a month a…
I staid the night for shelter at a… Behind the mountain, with a mother… Two old-believers. They did all t… Mother. Folks think a witch who h… She could call up to pass a winter…
A lantern light from deeper in the… Shone on a man and woman in the do… And threw their lurching shadows o… Near by, all dark in every glossy… A horse’s hoof pawed once the holl…
As I went out a Crow In a low voice said, 'Oh, I was looking for you. How do you do? I just came to tell you
Lancaster bore him—such a little t… Such a great man. It doesn’t see… Of late years, though he keeps the… And sends the children down there… To run wild in the summer—a little…
He halted in the wind, and– what… Far in the maples, pale, but not a… He stood there bringing March aga… And yet too ready to believe the m… ‘Oh, that’s the Paradise-in-bloom…
I turned to speak to God About the world’s despair; But to make bad matters worse I found God wasn’t there. God turned to speak to me