#1928 #AmericanWriters #WestRunningBrook
When I got up through the mowing… The headless aftermath, Smooth-laid like thatch with the h… Half closes the garden path. And when I come to the garden gro…
The line—storm clouds fly tattered… The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones… And the hoof—prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for…
I had withdrawn in forest, and my… Was swallowed up in leaves that bl… And to the forest edge you came on… (This was my dream) and looked and… But did not enter, though the wish…
The clouds, the source of rain, on… Offered an opening to the source o… Which I accepted with impatient s… Looking for my old skymarks in the… But stars were scarce in that part…
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;
It went many years, But at last came a knock, And I thought of the door With no lock to lock. I blew out the light,
Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things,
He has dust in his eyes and a fan… A leg akimbo with which he can sin… And a mouthful of dye stuff instea…
The great Overdog That heavenly beast With a star in one eye Gives a leap in the east. He dances upright
There’s a place called Far-away M… We never shall mow in again, Or such is the talk at the farmhou… The meadow is finished with men. Then now is the chance for the flo…
I WALKED down alone Sunday aft… To the place where John has been… To see for myself about the birch He said I could have to bush my p… The sun in the new-cut narrow gap
Having a wheel and four legs of it… Has never availed the cumbersome g… To get it anywhere that I can see… These hands have helped it go, and… Not all the motion, though, they e…
Always the same, when on a fated n… At last the gathered snow lets dow… As may be in dark woods, and with… It shall not make again all winter… Of hissing on the yet uncovered gr…
Seek not in me the big I capital, Not yet the little dotted in me se… If I have in me any I at all, 'Tis the iota subscript of the Gr… So small am I as an attention beg…
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…