How countlessly they congregate
O’er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as t
When wintry winds do blow!—
As if with keenness for our fate,

They leave us so to the way we too

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?

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,

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

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.

The old dog barks backwards withou
I can remember when he was a pup.

The line-storm clouds fly tattered
The road is forlorn all day,
Where a myriad snowy quartz stones
And the hoof-prints vanish away.
The roadside flowers, too wet for

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise

Out walking in the frozen swamp on
I paused and said, 'I will turn b
No, I will go on farther—and we s
The hard snow held me, save where
One foot went through. The view w