As I sat down by Saddle Stream

Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.Nobody that matters, that is. Distant relatives of courseDie, whom one never has seen or has seen for an hour,And they gave one candy in a pink-and-green stripéd bag, or a jack-knife,And went away, and cannot really be said to have lived at all.And cats die. They lie on…

That was all I had of you—Saving half an hour.Marred by greeting passing groupsIn a cinder walk,Near some naked blackberry hoopsDim with purple chalk.I remember three or fourThings you said in spite,And an ugly coat you wore,Plaided black and white.Just a rainy day or twoAnd a bitter word.Why do I remember youAs a singing bird?

‘you’ve need of clothes to cover you,and not a rag have I.‘There’s nothing in the houseTo make a boy breeches,Nor shears to cut a cloth with,Nor thread to take stitches.‘There’s nothing in the houseBut a loaf-end of rye,And a harp with a woman’s headNobody will buy,’And she began to cry.That was in the early fall.When…

And all for a pledge that was not pledged by me,I have kissed thy crust and eaten sparinglyThat I might eat again, and met thy sneersWith deprecations, and thy blows with tears,—Aye, from thy glutted lash, glad, crawled away,As if spent passion were a holiday!And now I go. Nor threat, nor easy vowOf tardy kindness…

I miss him in the weeping of the rain;I want him at the shrinking of the tide;The old snows melt from every mountain-side,And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;But last year’s bitter loving must remainHeaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abideThere are a hundred places where I fearTo go,—so with his…

Budded, bloomed, and shattered,During sad days when to meNothing mattered.Grief of grief has drained me clean;Still it seems a pityNo one saw,—it must have beenVery pretty.IILet the little birds sing;Let the little lambs play;Spring is here; and so ’tis spring;—But not in the old way!I recall a placeWhere a plum-tree grew;There you lifted up your…