With loitering step and quiet eye, Beneath the low November sky, I wandered in the woods, and found A clearing, where the broken ground Was scattered with black stumps and briers, And the old wreck of forest fires
It was a bleak and sandy spo...
Long, long ago, it seems, this summer
That pale-browed April passed with pensive
Through the frore woods, and from its frost-bound
Woke the arbutus with her silver horn;
To the distance
Ah, the distance
Blue and broad and dim
Peace is not in burgh or meadow,
The leafless forests slowly yield To the thick-driving snow
A little while And night shall darken down
In shouting file The woodmen's carts go by me homeward-wheeled, Past the thin fading stubbles, half concealed, Now golden-gray, sowed ...
We in sorrow coldly witting,
In the bleak world sitting, sitting,
By the forest, near the mould,
Heard the summer calling, calling,
What would'st thou have for easement after grief, When the rude world hath used thee with despite, And care sits at thine elbow day and night, Filching thy pleasures like a subtle thief
To me, when life besets me in such wise, 'Tis sweetest t...
Along the waste, a great way off, the pines,
Like tall slim priests of storm, stand up and
The low long strip of dolorous red that
The under west, where wet winds moan afar
The point is turned; the twilight shadow
The wheeling stream, the soft receding shore,
And on our ears from deep among the
Breaks now the rapid's sudden quickening roar
There is singing of birds in the deep wet woods,
In the heart of the listening solitudes,
Pewees, and thrushes, and sparrows, not few,
And all the notes of their throats are true
Oh earth, oh dewy mother, breathe on
Something of all thy beauty and thy might,
Us that are part of day, but most of night,
Not strong like thee, but ever burdened
Now overhead,
Where the rivulet loiters and stops,
The bittersweet hangs from the
Of the alders and
From plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare;
Up the steep hill it seems to
Beyond, and melt into the glare