#1913 #ABoy'sWill #AmericanWriters
The soil now gets a rumpling soft… And small regard to the future of… The final flat of the hoe’s approv… Is reserved for the bed of a few s… There is seldom more than a man to…
EVEN the bravest that are slain Shall not dissemble their surprise On waking to find valor reign, Even as on earth, in paradise; And where they sought without the…
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…
'You know Orion always comes up s… Throwing a leg up over our fence o… And rising on his hands, he looks… Busy outdoors by lantern-light wit… I should have done by daylight, an…
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fal… To—morrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call;
A lantern light from deeper in the… Shone on a man and woman in the do… And threw their lurching shadows o… Near by, all dark in every glossy… A horse’s hoof pawed once the holl…
I staid the night for shelter at a… Behind the mountain, with a mother… Two old-believers. They did all t… The Mother Folks think a witch who has famili…
She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when the sunny summer br… Has dried the dew and all its rope… So that in guys it gently sways at… And its supporting central cedar p…
Never ask of money spent Where the spender thinks it went. Nobody was ever meant To remember or invent What he did with every cent.
He is that fallen lance that lies… That lies unlifted now, come dew,… But still lies pointed as it ploug… If we who sight along it round the… See nothing worthy to have been it…
Inscription for a Garden Wall Winds blow the open grassy places… But where this old wall burns a su… They eddy over it too toppling wea… To blow the earth or anything self…
Some of you will be glad I did wh… And the rest won’t want to punish… For finding a thing to do that tho… Yet wasn’t enjoined and wasn’t exp… To punish me over cruelly wouldn’t…
Her Word One ought not to have to care So much as you and I Care when the birds come round the… To seem to say good—bye;
As I came to the edge of the wood… Thrush music—hark! Now if it was dusk outside, Inside it was dark. Too dark in the woods for a bird
He is said to have been the last… In Action. And the Miller is sai… If you like to call such a sound a… But he gave no one else a laugher’… For he turned suddenly grave as if…