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

I’ve known ere now an interfering
Of alder catch my lifted axe behin
But that was in the woods, to hold
From striking at another alder’s r
And that was, as I say, an alder

The firm house lingers, though ave
With the new city street it has to
But what about the brook
That held the house as in an elbow
I ask as one who knew the brook, i

God made a beatous garden
With lovely flowers strown,
But one straight, narrow pathway
That was not overgrown.
And to this beauteous garden

I had for my winter evening walk—
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.
And I thought I had the folk with

The city had withdrawn into itself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

A house that lacks, seemingly, mis
With doors that none but the wind
Its floor all littered with glass
It stands in a garden of old-fashi
I pass by that way in the gloaming

When I see birches bend to left a
Across the lines of straighter dar
I like to think some boy’s been sw
But swinging doesn’t bend them dow
As ice-storms do. Often you must

Her Word
One ought not to have to care
So much as you and I
Care when the birds come round the
To seem to say good—bye;

It was long I lay
Awake that night
Wishing that night
Would name the hour
And tell me whether