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

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

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,

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

Blood has been harder to dam back
Just when we think we have it impo
Behind new barrier walls (and let
It breaks away in some new kind of
We choose to say it is let loose b

Afield at dusk
What things for dream there are wh
Moving amond tall haycocks lightly
I enter alone upon the stubbled fi
From which the laborers’ voices la

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.

To think to know the country and n
The hillside on the day the sun le
Ten million silver lizards out of
As often as I’ve seen it done bef
I can’t pretend to tell the way it

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s

There were three in the meadow by
Gathering up windrows, piling hayc
With an eye always lifted toward t
Where an irregular, sun-bordered c
Darkly advanced with a perpetual d