#1928 #AmericanWriters #WestRunningBrook
She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when the sunny summer br… Has dried the dew and all its rope… So that in guys it gently sways at… And its supporting central cedar p…
To Time it never seems that he is… To set himself against the peaks o… To lay them level with the running… Nor is he overjoyed when they lie… But only grave, contemplative and…
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…
Two fairies it was On a still summer day Came forth in the woods With the flowers to play. The flowers they plucked
You were forever finding some new… So when I saw you down on hands a… In the meadow, busy with the new-c… Trying, I thought, to set it up o… I went to show you how to make it…
The old dog barks backwards withou… I can remember when he was a pup.
You like to hear about gold. A king filled his prison room As full as the room could hold To the top of his reach on the wal… With every known shape of the stuf…
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…
What tree may not the fig be gathe… The grape may not be gathered from… It’s all you know the grape, or kn… As a girl gathered from the birch… Equally with my weight in grapes,…
Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands of the artists of our day. Why can’t we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself...
As I came to the edge of the wood… Thrush music—hark! Now if it was dusk outside, Inside it was dark. Too dark in the woods for a bird
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…
If this uncertain age in which we… Were really as dark as I hear sag… And I convinced that they were re… I should not curse myself with it… But leaving not the chair I long…
I have been treading on leaves all… God knows all the color and form o… Perhaps I have put forth too much… I have safely trodden underfoot th… All summer long they were over hea…
To Ridgely Torrence On Last Looking into His 'Hesper… I often see flowers from a passing… That are gone before I can tell w… I want to get out of the train and…