Selected PoemsHenry Holt, 1923 - 143 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
afraid Anne apple apple-picking barn berries beside big boy birch birds BLUEBERRIES boughs brook climbing Cole coming dark dear door dream everything eyes farm feet flowers fool fountain pen Fred Fred Cole glad gone Good-night hand hear heard heart Hello hour HYLA keep knew lamp lantern lawyer leaves lift light load look Loren Lunenburg MENDING WALL Meserve miles mind moon morning mountain never night clerk once pasture pick Ram's Horn road roads diverged round seemed shout Silas sleep slippery slope snow someone sound speak stay stood stove stovepipe talk tell There's thing thought to-night told took tree turned twixt UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN walk wall Warren Willis wind window winter wonder wood woodchuck word Yellow Lady's Slipper
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Página 67 - Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down!" I could say "elves" to him, But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. I see him there, Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. He moves in darkness, as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees. He will not go behind his father's saying, And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors.
Página 56 - I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse...
Página 66 - Oh, just another kind of out-door game, One on a side. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours.
Página 55 - Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust— Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
Página 103 - TAKEN Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that...
Página 63 - I came to view the levelled scene. I looked for him behind an isle of trees; I listened for his whetstone on the breeze. But he had gone his way, the grass all mown, And I must be, as he had been, - alone, 'As all must be,' I said within my heart, 'Whether they work together or apart.
Página 56 - And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
Página 14 - If that was what it was. You can be certain, When he begins like that, there's someone at him Trying to coax him off with pocket-money, In haying time, when any help is scarce. In winter he comes back to us. I'm done.' 'Sh! not so loud: he'll hear you,' Mary said. 'I want him to: he'll have to soon or late.
Página 53 - But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, « The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight I got from looking through a pane of glass I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough And held against the world of hoary grass.
Página 3 - I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I shan't be gone long.— You come too.