Come with rain, O loud Southweste
Bring the singer, bring the nester
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snow—bank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;

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

Never have I been glad or sad
That there was such a thing as bad
There had to be, I understood,
For there to have been any good.
It was by having been contrasted

We chanced in passing by that afte
To catch it in a sort of special p
Among tar-banded ancient cherry tr
Set well back from the road in ran
The little cottage we were speakin

There overtook me and drew me in
To his down-hill, early-morning st
And set me five miles on my road
Better than if he had had me ride,
A man with a swinging bag for’load

She had no saying dark enough
For the dark pine that kept
Forever trying the window latch
Of the room where they slept.
The tireless but ineffectual hands

Something inspires the only cow of
To make no more of a wall than an
And think no more of wall—builders
Her face is flecked with pomace an
A cider syrup. Having tasted frui

For every parcel I stoop down to
I lose some other off my arms and
And the whole pile is slipping, bo
Extremes too hard to comprehend at
Yet nothing I should care to leav

The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to th
When between whirls of snow not co
And whirls of foliage not yet laid
A stranger to our yard, who looked

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