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.

He thought he kept the universe al
For all the voice in answer he cou
Was but the mocking echo of his ow
From some tree-hidden cliff across
Some morning from the boulder-brok

Thine emulous fond flowers are dea
And the daft sun—assaulter, he
That frighted thee so oft, is fled
Save only me
(Nor is it sad to thee!)

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

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

He saw her from the bottom of the
Before she saw him. She was star
Looking back over her shoulder at
She took a doubtful step and then
To raise herself and look again.

How countlessly they congregate
O’er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as t
When wintry winds do blow!—
As if with keenness for our fate,

From where I lingered in a lull i
outside the sugar-house one night
I called the fireman with a carefu
And bade him leave the pan and sto
‘O fireman, give the fire another

The sentencing goes blithely on it
And takes the playfully objected r
As surely as it takes the stroke a
In having its undeviable say.

The well was dry beside the door,
And so we went with pail and can
Across the fields behind the house
To seek the brook if still it ran;
Not loth to have excuse to go,