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.

One misty evening, one another’s g
We two were groping down a Malver
The last wet fields and dripping h
There came a moment of confusing l
Such as according to belief in Ro

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-

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

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 west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold
When shoeing home across the white
I thought I saw a bird alight.
In summer when I passed the place

Oh, give us pleasure in the flower
And give us not to think so far aw
As the uncertain harvest; keep us
All simply in the springing of the
Oh, gives us pleasure in the orcha

In going from room to room in the
I reached out blindly to save my f
But neglected, however lightly, to
My fingers and close my arms in an
A slim door got in past my guard,

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

ONCE on the kind of day called “
When the heat slowly hazes and the
By its own power seems to be undon
I was half boring through, half cl
A swamp of cedar. Choked with oil