Sorted by title, showing title and first line
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
He halted in the wind, and, what was that
The firm house lingers, though averse to square
There sandy seems the golden sky
A speck that would have been beneath my sight
I had withdrawn in forest, and my song
A neighbor of mine in the village
To think to know the country and now know
Lancaster bore him, such a little town,
When I go up through the mowing field,
The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift.
I have wished a bird would fly away,
To Ridgely Torrence
There's a patch of old snow in a corner
Dust always blowing about the town,
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
A voice said, Look me in the stars
I didn't make you know how glad I was
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
When a friend calls to me from the road
A winter garden in an alder swamp,
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
I have been one acquainted with the night.
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
All out of doors looked darkly in at him
A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master,
Inscription for a Garden Wall
Where had I heard this wind before
When I see birches bend to left and right
It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
"You ought to have seen what I saw on my way
Love has earth to which she clings
But outer Space,
The great Overdog
As I came to the edge of the woods,
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
The heart can think of no devotion
If, as they say, some dust thrown in my eyes
The way a crow
From where I lingered in a lull in march
Some say the world will end in fire;
Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
I left you in the morning,
Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Why make so much of fragmentary blue
Spades take up leaves
I dwell in a lonely house I know
The well was dry beside the door,
I had for my winter evening walk
This saying good-bye on the edge of the dark
Was there even a cause too lost,
He saw her from the bottom of the stairs
By June our brook's run out of song and speed.
It was long I lay
No ship of all that under sail or steam
The living come with grassy tread
The sentencing goes blithely on its way
When I was young, we dwelt in a vale
Thus of old the Douglas did:
The same leaves over and over again!
They leave us so to the way we took,
A dented spider like a snow drop white
One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
Seek not in me the big I capital,
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
The rain to the wind said,
A stranger came to the door at eve,
As I went down the hill along the wall
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
All crying, 'We will go with you, O Wind!'
There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too,
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
The people along the sand
He would declare and could himself believe
They sent him back to her. The letter came
Nature's first green is gold,
Now close the windows and hush all the fields:
O hushed October morning mild,
(To hear us talk)
As vain to raise a voice as a sigh
You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
The shattered water made a misty din.
Not only sands and gravels
It snowed in spring on earth so dry and warm
Pan came out of the woods one day,
Nothing to say to all those marriages!
I hear men say to plow the snow.
The witch that came (the withered hag)
You come to fetch me from my work to-night
Never have I been glad or sad
The battle rent a cobweb diamond-strung
Out through the fields and the woods
We make ourselves a place apart
The surest thing there is is we are riders,
A saturated meadow,
Sea waves are green and wet,
When I spread out my hand here today,
Two fairies it was
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
How countlessly they congregate
Whose woods these are I think I know.
When the wind works against us in the dark,
Before man came to blow it right
For every parcel I stoop down to seize
I’ve known ere now an interfering branch
The bear puts both arms around the tree above her
Here further up the mountain slope
We chanced in passing by that afternoon
As far as I can see this autumn haze
There were three in the meadow by the brook
Something inspires the only cow of late
Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
It was far in the sameness of the wood;
In going from room to room in the dark,
He gave the solid rail a hateful kick.
You were forever finding some new play.
A lantern light from deeper in the barn
Blood has been harder to dam back than water.
The Fisherman's swapping a yarn for a yarn
I've tried the new moon tilted in the air
A governor it was proclaimed this time,
The land was ours before we were the land's.
Having a wheel and four legs of its own
There overtook me and drew me in
I let myself in at the kitchen door.
Over back where they speak of life as staying
Builder, in building the little house,
There's a place called Far-away Meadow
Here come the line-gang pioneering by,
It went many years,
The mountain held the town as in a shadow
The house had gone to bring again
Always the same, when on a fated night
There is a singer everyone has heard,
I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
If heaven were to do again,
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
The rose is a rose,
Once when the snow of the year was beginning to fall,
We dance round in a ring and suppose,
"Willis, I didn't want you here to-day:
She is as in a field of silken tent
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
I wonder about the trees.
The old dog barks backwards without getting up.
You know Orien always comes up sideways.
'When I was just as far as I could walk
Out alone in the winter rain,
More than halfway up the pass
Even the bravest that are slain
I went to turn the grass once after one
The sound of the closing outside door was all.
He is said to have been the last Red man
If tired of trees I seek again mankind,
Out walking in the frozen swamp one grey day
Grief may have thought it was grief.
I slumbered with your poems on my breast
Love at the lips was touch
Come with rain. O loud Southwester!
Tree at my window, window tree,
Love and forgetting might have carried them
Out of the mud two strangers came
What things for dream there are when spectre-like,
When I was young my teachers were the old.
Lovers, forget your love,