#1928 #AmericanWriters #WestRunningBrook
Lancaster bore him—such a little t… Such a great man. It doesn’t see… Of late years, though he keeps the… And sends the children down there… To run wild in the summer—a little…
A head thrusts in as for the view, But where it is it thrusts in from Or what it is it thrusts into By that Cyb’laean avenue, And what can of its coming come,
I let myself in at the kitchen doo… ‘It’s you,' she said. 'I can’t ge… Not answering your knock. I can n… Let people in than I can keep the… I’m getting too old for my size,…
Why Tityrus! But you’ve forgotten… I’m Meliboeus the potato man, The one you had the talk with, you… Here on this very campus years ago… Hard times have struck me and I’m…
By June our brook’s run out of so… Sought for much after that, it wil… Either to have gone groping underg… (And taken with it all the Hyla b… That shouted in the mist a month a…
(To hear us talk) The tree the tempest with a crash… Throws down in front of us is not… Our passage to our journey’s end f… But just to ask us who we think we…
When I see birches bend to left a… Across the lines of straighter dar… I like to think some boy’s been sw… But swinging doesn’t bend them dow… As ice-storms do. Often you must…
This saying good-bye on the edge o… And cold to an orchard so young in… Reminds me of all that can happen… An orchard away at the end of the… All winter, cut off by a hill from…
Something inspires the only cow of… To make no more of a wall than an… And think no more of wall-builders… Her face is flecked with pomace an… A cider syrup. Having tasted frui…
We sit indoors and talk of the col… And every gust that gathers streng… Is a threat to the house. But the… We think of the tree. If it never… We’ll know, we say, that this was…
The surest thing there is is we ar… And though none too successful at… Through everything presented, land… And now the very air, of what we r… What is this talked-of mystery of…
The white-tailed hornet lives in a… That floats against the ceiling of… The exit he comes out at like a bu… Is like the pupil of a pointed gun… And having power to change his aim…
When I was young my teachers were… I gave up fire for form till I wa… I suffered like a metal being cast… I went to school to age to learn t… Now when I am old my teachers are…
Some say the world will end in fir… Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if I had to perish twice,
Something inspires the only cow of… To make no more of a wall than an… And think no more of wall—builders… Her face is flecked with pomace an… A cider syrup. Having tasted frui…