#Americans #Women
Glad that I live am I; That the sky is blue; Glad for the country lanes, And the fall of dew. After the sun the rain;
Wild rockets blew along the lane; The tall white gentians too were t… The mullein stalks were brave agai… Of blossoms was the bramble bare; And toward the pasture bars below
A rhyme of good Death’s inn! My love came to that door; And she had need of many things, The way had been so sore. My love she lifted up her head,
Such special sweetness was about That day God sent you here, I knew the lavender was out, And it was mid of year. Their common way the great winds b…
There’s never a rose upon the bush… And never a bud on any tree; In wood and field nor hint nor sig… Of one green thing for you or me. Come in, come in, sweet love of mi…
Love came back at fall o’ dew, Playing his old part; But I had a word or two That would break his heart. ‘He who comes at candlelight,
A serviceable thing Is fennel, mint, or balm, Kept in the thrifty calm Of hollows, in the spring; Or by old houses pent.
Snatch the departing mood; Make yours its emptying reed, and… Faith in the time, faith in our co… Faith in the least of good: Song cannot fail if these its spir…
Lydia is gone this many a year, Yet when the lilacs stir, In the old gardens far or near, The house is full of her. They climb the twisted chamber sta…
It is too early for white boughs,… For snows. From out the hedge the… A few last flakes, ragged and deli… Down the stripped roads the maples… Soft, ’wildering fires. Stained a…
Break forth, break forth, O Sudbu… And bid your yards be gay Up all your gusty streets and down… For Lydia comes to-day! I hear it on the wharves below;
The spicewood burns along the gray… In moist unchimneyed places, in a… That whips it all before, and all… Into one thick, rude flame, now lo… It is the first, the homeliest thi…
Along the pastoral ways I go, To get the healing of the trees, The ghostly news the hedges know; To hive me honey like the bees, Against the time of snow.
A long the thousand roads of Fran… Now there, and here, swift as a gl… A cloud, a mist blown down the sky… Good Joan of Arc goes riding by. In Domremy at candlelight,
Dark, thinned, beside the wall of… The box dripped in the air; Its odor through my house was blow… Into the chamber there. Remote and yet distinct the scent,
