I staid the night for shelter at a
Behind the mountains, with a mothe
Two old—believers. They did all t
MOTHER Folks think a witch who
She could call up to pass a winter

He is that fallen lance that lies
That lies unlifted now, come dew,
But still lies pointed as it ploug
If we who sight along it round the
See nothing worthy to have been it

The surest thing there is is we ar
And though none too successful at
Through everything presented, land
And now the very air, of what we r
What is this talked-of mystery of

Others taunt me with having knelt
Always wrong to the light, so neve
Deeper down in the well than where
Gives me back in a shining surface
Me myself in the summer heaven god

Old Davis owned a solid mica moun
In Dalton that would someday make
There’d been some Boston people o
And experts said that deep down in
The mica sheets were big as plate-

Once when the snow of the year was
We stopped by a mountain pasture t
A little Morgan had one forefoot
The other curled at his breast. H
And snorted at us. And then he ha

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

'You know Orion always comes up s
Throwing a leg up over our fence o
And rising on his hands, he looks
Busy outdoors by lantern-light wit
I should have done by daylight, an

Come with rain, O loud Southweste
Bring the singer, bring the nester
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snow—bank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;

BROWN lived at such a lofty farm
That everyone for miles could see
His lantern when he did his chores
In winter after half-past three.
And many must have seen him make