#1916 #AmericanWriters #MountainInterval
Out walking in the frozen swamp on… I paused and said, “I will turn b… No, I will go on farther—and we s… The hard snow held me, save where… One foot went through. The view w…
YOU come to fetch me from my work… When supper’s on the table, and we… If I can leave off burying the wh… Soft petals fallen from the apple… (Soft petals, yes, but not so barr…
Love and forgetting might have car… A little further up the mountain s… With night so near, but not much f… They must have halted soon in any… With thoughts of a path back, how…
I had for my winter evening walk— No one at all with whom to talk, But I had the cottages in a row Up to their shining eyes in snow. And I thought I had the folk with…
The grade surmounted, we were ridi… Through level mountains nothing to… But scrub oak, scrub oak and the l… That kept the oaks from getting an… But as through the monotony we ran…
Out walking in the frozen swamp on… I paused and said, 'I will turn b… No, I will go on farther—and we s… The hard snow held me, save where… One foot went through. The view w…
All out-of-doors looked darkly in… Through the thin frost, almost in… That gathers on the pane in empty… What kept his eyes from giving bac… Was the lamp tilted near them in h…
I have wished a bird would fly awa… And not sing by my house all day; Have clapped my hands at him from… When it seemed as if I could bear… The fault must partly have been in…
Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands of the artists of our day. Why can’t we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself...
First under up and then again down… We watch a circus of revolving dog… No senator dares in to kick asunde… Lest both should bite him in the t…
‘Fred, where is north?’ ‘North? North is there, my love. The brook runs west.’ ‘West—running Brook then call it.… (West—Running Brook men call it t…
Thine emulous fond flowers are dea… And the daft sun—assaulter, he That frighted thee so oft, is fled… Save only me (Nor is it sad to thee!)
A stolen lady was coming on board, But whether stolen from her wedded… Or from her own self against her w… Was not set forth in the lading bi… A stolen lady was all it said.
There was never a sound beside the… And that was my long scythe whispe… What was it it whispered? I knew… Perhaps it was something about the… Something, perhaps, about the lack…
A dented spider like a snow drop w… On a white Heal-all, holding up a… Like a white piece of lifeless sat… Saw ever curious eye so strange a… Portent in little, assorted death…