The fisherman’s swapping a yarn fo
Under the hand of the village barb
And her in the angle of house and
His deep-sea dory has found a harb
At anchor she rides the sunny sod

If heaven were to do again,
And on the pasture bars,
I leaned to line the figures in
Between the dotted stars,
I should be tempted to forget,

He is said to have been the last
In Action. And the Miller is sai
If you like to call such a sound a
But he gave no one else a laugher’
For he turned suddenly grave as if

This saying good-bye on the edge o
And cold to an orchard so young in
Reminds me of all that can happen
An orchard away at the end of the
All winter, cut off by a hill from

The witch that came (the withered
To wash the steps with pail and ra
Was once the beauty Abishag,
The picture pride of Hollywood.
Too many fall from great and good

I didn’t make you know how glad I
To have you come and camp here on
promised myself to get down some d
And see the way you lived, but I
With a houseful of hungry men to f

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

When I was young my teachers were
I gave up fire for form till I wa
I suffered like a metal being cast
I went to school to age to learn t
Now when I am old my teachers are

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

There is a singer everyone has hea
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood
Who makes the solid tree trunks so
He says that leaves are old and th
Mid-summer is to spring as one to