Whose woods these are I think I k… His house is in the village, thoug… He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with sn… My little horse must think it quee…

As I went down the hill along the… There was a gate I had leaned at… And had just turned from when I f… As you came up the hill. We met.… We did that day was mingle great a…

ONCE on the kind of day called “… When the heat slowly hazes and the… By its own power seems to be undon… I was half boring through, half cl… A swamp of cedar. Choked with oil…

A voice said, Look me in the star… And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth…

The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to ocean— Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.

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

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.

I had withdrawn in forest, and my… Was swallowed up in leaves that bl… And to the forest edge you came on… (This was my dream) and looked and… But did not enter, though the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…