Pan came out of the woods one day,
I slumbered with your poems on my
Spread open as I dropped them hal
Like dove wings on a figure on a t
To see, if in a dream they brought
I might not have the chance I mis
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
The shattered water made a misty d
Great waves looked over others com
And thought of doing something to
That water never did to land befor
The clouds were low and hairy in t
Love and forgetting might have car
A little further up the mountain s
With night so near, but not much f
They must have halted soon in any
With thoughts of a path back, how
A neighbor of mine in the village
Likes to tell how one spring
When she was a girl on the farm, s
A childlike thing.
One day she asked her father
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,
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
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
A plow, they say, to plow the snow
They cannot mean to plant it, no—
Unless in bitterness to mock
At having cultivated rock.