SELECTED POEMS THE PASTURE L I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'm going out to fetch the little calf THE COW IN APPLE-TIME SOMETHING inspires the only cow of late She scorns a pasture withering to the root. THE RUNAWAY ONCE when the snow of the year was beginning to fall, We stopped by a mountain pasture to say "Whose colt?" A little Morgan had one forefoot on the wall, The other curled at his breast. He dipped his head 1 And snorted at us. And then he had to bolt. We heard the miniature thunder where he fled, Like a shadow against the curtain of falling flakes. He isn't winter-broken. It isn't play With the little fellow at all. He's running away. |