How countlessly they congregateO’er our tumultuous snow,Which flows in shapes as tall as treesWhen wintry winds do blow!– As if with keenness for our fate,Our faltering few steps onTo white rest, and a place of restInvisible at dawn,– And yet with neither love nor hate,Those stars like some snow-whiteMinerva’s snow-white marble eyesWithout the gift of

Age saw two quiet childrenGo loving by at twilight,He knew not whether homeward,Or outward from the village,Or (chimes were ringing) churchward,He waited, (they were strangers)Till they were out of hearingTo bid them both be happy.‘Be happy, happy, happy,And seize the day of pleasure.’The age-long theme is Age’s.‘Twas Age imposed on poemsTheir gather-roses burdenTo warn against

These pools that, though in forests, still reflectThe total sky almost without defect,And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,And yet not out by any brook or river,But up by roots to bring dark foliage on. The trees that have it in their pent-up budsTo darken

Out of the mud two strangers cameAnd caught me splitting wood in the yard,And one of them put me off my aimBy hailing cheerily “Hit them hard!”I knew pretty well why he had dropped behindAnd let the other go on a way.I knew pretty well what he had in mind:He wanted to take my job

The well was dry beside the door,And so we went with pail and canAcross the fields behind the houseTo seek the brook if still it ran;Not loth to have excuse to go,Because the autumn eve was fair(Though chill), because the fields were ours,And by the brook our woods were there. We ran as if to

I left you in the morning,And in the morning glow,You walked a way beside meTo make me sad to go.Do you know me in the gloaming,Gaunt and dusty gray with roaming?Are you dumb because you know me not,Or dumb because you know? All for me And not a questionFor the faded flowers gayThat could take

He saw her from the bottom of the stairsBefore she saw him. She was starting down,Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.She took a doubtful step and then undid itTo raise herself and look again. He spokeAdvancing toward her: “What is it you seeFrom up there always? — for I want to know.”She turned

I went to turn the grass once after oneWho mowed it in the dew before the sun. The dew was gone that made his blade so keenBefore I came to view the levelled scene. I looked for him behind an isle of trees;I listened for his whetstone on the breeze. But he had gone his

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yardAnd made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.And from there those that lifted eyes could countFive mountain ranges one behind the otherUnder the sunset far into Vermont.And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,As it ran light, or had

The people along the sandAll turn and look one way.They turn their back on the land.They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to passA ship keeps raising its hull;The wetter ground like glassReflects a standing gull The land may vary more;But wherever the truth may be-The water comes ashore,And the