And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns —
Extremes too hard to comprehend at once,
Yet nothing I should care to leave behind.
With all I have to hold with hand and mind
And heart, if need be, I will do my best
To keep their building balanced at my breast.
I crouch down to prevent them as they fall;
Then sit down in the middle of them all.
I had to drop the armful in the road
And try to stack them in a better load.
There wasn’t always Hudson’s BayAnd the fur trade,A small skiffAnd a paddle blade.I can just see my tent pegged,And me on the floor,Cross-legged,And a trapper looking in at the doorWith furs to sell.His name’s Joe,Alias John,And between what he doesn’t knowAnd won’t tellAbout where Henry Hudson’s gone,I can’t say he’s much help;But we get on.The…
And bags full of leavesAre light as balloons.I make a great noiseOf rustling all dayLike rabbit and deerRunning away.But the mountains I raiseElude my embrace,Flowing over my armsAnd into my face.I may load and unloadAgain and againTill I fill the whole shed,And what have I then?Next to nothing for weight,And since they grew dullerFrom contact…
A governor it was proclaimed this time,When all who would come seeking in New HampshireAncestral memories might come together.And those of the name Stark gathered in Bow,A rock-strewn town where farming has fallen off,And sprout-lands flourish where the axe has gone.Someone had literally run to earthIn an old cellar hole in a by-roadThe origin of…
`You know Orion always comes up sideways.Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,And rising on his hands, he looks in on meBusy outdoors by lantern-light with somethingI should have done by daylight, and indeed,After the ground is frozen, I should have doneBefore it froze, and a gust flings a handfulOf waste leaves at…
At the end of the rowI stepped on the toeOf an unemployed hoe.It rose in offenseAnd struck me a blowIn the seat of my sense.It wasn’t to blameBut I called it a name.And I must say it dealtMe a blow that I feltLike a malice prepense.You may call me a fool,But was there a ruleThe…
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay.Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen themLoaded with ice a sunny winter morningAfter a rain. They click upon themselvesAs the breeze rises, and turn many-colouredAs the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed…
