#1928 #AmericanWriters #WestRunningBrook
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…
The clouds, the source of rain, on… Offered an opening to the source o… Which I accepted with impatient s… Looking for my old skymarks in the… But stars were scarce in that part…
In a Vermont bedroom closet With a door of two broad boards And for back wall a crumbling old… (And that’s what their toes are to… I have a pair of shoes standing,
The rain to the wind said, ‘You push and I’ll pelt.’ They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged– though not dead.
It was far in the sameness of the… I was running with joy on the Dem… Though I knew what I hunted was n… It was just as the light was begin… That I suddenly heard—all I neede…
Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things,
A plow, they say, to plow the snow… They cannot mean to plant it, no— Unless in bitterness to mock At having cultivated rock.
A Stranger came to the door at ev… And he spoke the bridegroom fair. He bore a green-white stick in his… And, for all burden, care. He asked with the eyes more than t…
Will the blight end the chestnut? The farmers rather guess not. It keeps smouldering at the roots And sending up new shoots Till another parasite
Always the same, when on a fated n… At last the gathered snow lets dow… As may be in dark woods, and with… It shall not make again all winter… Of hissing on the yet uncovered gr…
Out through the fields and the woo… And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and desce… I have come by the highway home,
One thing has a shelving bank, Another a rotting plank, To give it cozier skies And make up for its lack of size. My own strategic retreat
The buzz—saw snarled and rattled i… And made dust and dropped stove—le… Sweet—scented stuff when the breez… And from there those that lifted e… Five mountain ranges one behind th…
Never ask of money spent Where the spender thinks it went. Nobody was ever meant To remember or invent What he did with every cent.
The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to pass