You could have driven a pick-up truck thru spokes of that moon, so big and radiant this upended water chestnut - ground mist weeping in the shadows flutter of an old woman's shawl,...
Now the autumn maize is growing, Now the corn-cob fills, Where the Little River flowing Winds among the hills. Over mountain peaks outlying Clear against the blue Comes a scout in silence flying,...
Methought the world was bound with final frost; The sun, made hueless as with fear and awe, Illumined yet the lands it could not thaw. Then on my road, with instant evening crost,...
In the winter children go Walking in the fields of snow Where there is no grass at all, And the top of every wall, Every fence, and every tree Is as white as white can be. ...
Where run your colts at pasture? Where hide your mares to breed? 'Mid bergs about the Ice-cap Or wove Sargasso weed; By chartless reef and channel, Or crafty coastwise bars,...
Is it not a wonderful thing to be able to force an astonished plant to bear rare flowers which are foreign to it ... and to obtain a marvellous result from sap which, left to itself, would have produced corollas without beauty?...
I haven't locked the door, Nor lit the candles, You don't know, don't care, That tired I haven't the strength To decide to go to bed. Seeing the fields fade in The sunset murk of pine-needles,...
If you and I could change to beasts, what beast should either be? Shall you and I play Jove for once? Turn fox then, I decree! Shy wild sweet stealer of the grapes! Now do your worst on me! ...
Say whither, whither, pretty one? The hour is young at present! How hushed is all the world around! Ere dawn--the streets hold not a sound. O whither, whither do you run?...
Not o'er thy dust let there be spent The gush of maudlin sentiment; Such drift as that is not for thee, Whose life and deeds and songs agree, Sublime in their simplicity. ...
Who bides his time, and day by day Faces defeat full patiently, And lifts a mirthful roundelay, However poor his fortunes be, He will not fail in any qualm Of poverty - the paltry dime...
Who but is pleased to watch the moon on high Traveling where she from time to time enshrouds Her head, and nothing loth her Majesty Renounces, till among the scattered clouds...
Whoe'er thou art whose path in summer lies Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove Of branching oaks a rural palace old Imbosoms. there dwells Albert, generous lord...