Category Poets

It came into her mind, seeing how the snowWas gone, and the brown grass exposed again,And clothes-pins, and an apron ” long ago,In some white storm that sifted through the paneAnd sent her forth reluctantly at lastTo gather in, before…

She had forgotten how the August nightWas level as a lake beneath the moon,In which she swam a little, losing sightOf shore; and how the boy, who was at noonSimple enough, not different from the rest,Wore now a pleasant mystery…

Not over-kind nor over-quick in studyNor skilled in sports nor beautiful was he,Who had come into her life when anybodyWould have been welcome, so in need was she.They had become acquainted in this way:He flashed a mirror in her eyes…

She let them leave their jellies at the doorAnd go away, reluctant, down the walk.She heard them talking as they passed beforeThe blind, but could not quite make out their talkFor noise in the room—the sudden heavy fallAnd roll of…

One way there was of muting in the mindA little while the ever-clamorous care;And there was rapture, of a decent kind,In making mean and ugly objects fair:Soft-sooted kettle-bottoms, that had beenTime after time set in above the fire,Faucets, and candlesticks,…

Then cautiously she pushed the cellar doorAnd stepped into the kitchen—saw the trackOf muddy rubber boots across the floor,The many paper parcels in a stackUpon the dresser; with accustomed careRemoved the twine and put the wrappings by,Folded, and the bags…

A wagon stopped before the house; she heardThe heavy oilskins of the grocer’s manSlapping against his legs. Of a sudden whirredHer heart like a frightened partridge, and she ranAnd slid the bolt, leaving his entrance free;Then in the cellar way…

The white bark writhed and sputtered like a fishUpon the coals, exuding odorous smokeShe knelt and blew, in a surging desolate wishFor comfort; and the sleeping ashes wokeAnd scattered to the hearth, but no thin fireBroke suddenly, the wood was…

She filled her arms with wood, and set her chinForward, to hold the highest stick in place,No less afraid than she had always beenOf spiders up her arms and on her face,But too impatient for a careful searchOr a less…

The last white sawdust on the floor was grownGray as the first, so long had he been ill;The axe was nodding in the block; fresh-blownAnd foreign came the rain across the sill,But on the roof so steadily it drummedShe could…