I had for my winter evening walk-No one at all with whom to talk,But I had the cottages in a rowUp to their shining eyes in snow. And I thought I had the folk within:I had the sound of a violin;I had a glimpse through curtain lacesOf youthful forms and youthful faces. I had such…
SHE stood against the kitchen sink, and lookedOver the sink out through a dusty windowAt weeds the water from the sink made tall.She wore her cape; her hat was in her hand.Behind her was confusion in the room,Of chairs turned upside down to sit like peopleIn other chairs, and something, come to look,For every room…
Nothing to say to all those marriages!She had made three herself to three of his.The score was even for them, three to three.But come to die she found she cared so much:She thought of children in a burial row;Three children in a burial row were sad.One man’s three women in a burial rowSomehow made her…
As told to a child When we locked up the house at night,We always locked the flowers outsideAnd cut them off from window light.The time I dreamed the door was triedAnd brushed with buttons upon sleeves,The flowers were out there with the thieves.Yet nobody molested them!We did find one nasturtiumUpon the steps with bitten stem.I…
When I spread out my hand here today,I catch no more than a rayTo feel of between thumb and fingers;No lasting effect of it lingers. There was one time and only the oneWhen dust really took in the sun;And from that one intake of fireAll creatures still warmly suspire. And if men have watched a…
It was long I layAwake that nightWishing that nightWould name the hourAnd tell me whetherTo call it day(Though not yet light)And give up sleep.The snow fell deepWith the hiss of spray;Two winds would meet,One down one street,One down another,And fight in a smotherOf dust and feather.I could not say,But feared the coldHad checked the paceOf…
Old Davis owned a solid mica mountainIn Dalton that would someday make his fortune.There’d been some Boston people out to see it:And experts said that deep down in the mountainThe mica sheets were big as plate-glass windows.He’d like to take me there and show it to me. ‘I’ll tell you what you show me. You…
There’s a place called Far-away MeadowWe never shall mow in again,Or such is the talk at the farmhouse:The meadow is finished with men.Then now is the chance for the flowersThat can’t stand mowers and plowers.It must be now, through, in seasonBefore the not mowing brings trees on,Before trees, seeing the opening,March into a shadowy claim.The…
I staid the night for shelter at a farmBehind the mountains, with a mother and son,Two old-believers. They did all the talking. MOTHER Folks think a witch who has familiar spiritsShe could call up to pass a winter evening,But won’t, should be burned at the stake or something.Summoning spirits isn’t ‘Button, button,Who’s got the button,’…
More than halfway up the passWas a spring with a broken drinking glass,And whether the farmer drank or notHis mare was sure to observe the spotBy cramping the wheel on a water-bar,turning her forehead with a star,And straining her ribs for a monster sigh;To which the farmer would make reply,‘A sigh for every so many…
