#Americans
Your voice, with clear location of… Called me outside the window.You… Light yet composed, as in the just… Of uncontested summer all things r… Plainly their seeming into seamles…
St. John tells how, at Cana’s wed… The water-pots poured wine in such… That by his sober count There were a hundred gallons at th… It made no earthly sense, unless t…
Blow out the candles of your cake. They will not leave you in the dar… Who round with grace this dusky ar… Of the grand tour which souls must… You who have sounded William Blak…
Seeing the snowman standing all al… In dusk and cold is more than he c… The small boy weeps to hear the wi… A night of gnashings and enormous… His tearful sight can hardly reach…
Securely sunning in a forest glade… A mild, well-meaning snake Approved the adaptations he had ma… For safety’s sake. He liked the skin he had—
Now winter downs the dying of the… And night is all a settlement of s… From the soft street the rooms of… A gathered light, a shapen atmosph… Like frozen-over lakes whose ice i…
Sidling upon the river, the white… Has volleyed with its cannon all t… Shaken the shore towns like a Jud… Telling the palsied water its dema… That the crime come to the top aga…
Shall I love God for causing me t… I was mere utterance; shall these… Yet when I caused His work to jar… And one free subject loosened all… I love Him that He did not in a r…
Dream fluently, still brothers, wh… Took with your mother’s milk the m… In which pure matrix, joining worl… You strove to leave some line of v… Like still fresh tracks across a f…
Piecemeal the summer dies; At the field’s edge a daisy lives… A last shawl of burning lies On a gray field-stone. All cries are thin and terse;
A ball will bounce; but less and l… A light-hearted thing, resents its… Falling is what it loves, and the… So in our hearts from brilliance, Settles and is forgot.
That flower unseen, that gem of pu… Bright thoughts uncut by men: Strange that you need but speak th… And the mind skips and dives beyon… Finding at once the wild supposed…
R.Frost 100th B’day The air was soft, the ground still… In wet dull pastures where I stro… Was something I could not believe… Dead grass appeared to slide and h…
Sometimes, on waking, she would cl… For a last look at that white hous… In sleep alone, and held no title… And had not entered yet, for all h… What did she tell me of that house…
One wading a Fall meadow finds on… The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like… On water; it glides So from the walker, it turns Dry grass to a lake, as the slight…