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Oh； savage Beauty； suffer me to pass；
That am a timid woman； on her way
From one house to another！
TRAVEL
The railroad track is miles away；
And the day is loud with voices speaking；
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking。
All night there isn't a train goes by；
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming
But I see its cinders red on the sky；
And hear its engine steaming。
My heart is warm with the friends I make；
And better friends I'll not be knowing；
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take；
No matter where it's going。
LOW…TIDE
These wet rocks where the tide has been；
Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green；
These wet rocks where the tide went down
Will show again when the tide is high
Faint and perilous； far from shore；
No place to dream； but a place to die；
The bottom of the sea once more。
There was a child that wandered through
A giant's empty house all day；
House full of wonderful things and new；
But no fit place for a child to play。
SONG OF A SECOND APRIL
April this year； not otherwise
Than April of a year ago；
Is full of whispers； full of sighs；
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow；
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again； and butterflies。
There rings a hammering all day；
And shingles lie about the doors；
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood…pecker taps and bores；
The men are merry at their chores；
And children earnest at their play。
The larger streams run still and deep；
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun；
Pensively；only you are gone；
You that alone I cared to keep。
ROSEMARY
For the sake of some things
That be now no more
I will strew rushes
On my chamber…floor；
I will plant bergamot
At my kitchen…door。
For the sake of dim things
That were once so plain
I will set a barrel
Out to catch the rain；
I will hang an iron pot
On an iron crane。
Many things be dead and gone
That were brave and gay；
For the sake of these things
I will learn to say；
〃An it please you； gentle sirs；〃
〃Alack！〃 and 〃Well…a…day！〃
THE POET AND HIS BOOK
Down； you mongrel； Death！
Back into your kennel！
I have stolen breath
In a stalk of fennel！
You shall scratch and you shall whine
Many a night； and you shall worry
Many a bone； before you bury
One sweet bone of mine！
When shall I be dead？
When my flesh is withered；
And above my head
Yellow pollen gathered
All the empty afternoon？
When sweet lovers pause and wonder
Who am I that lie thereunder；
Hidden from the moon？
This my personal death？
That lungs be failing
To inhale the breath
Others are exhaling？
This my subtle spirit's end？
Ah； when the thawed winter splashes
Over these chance dust and ashes；
Weep not me； my friend！
Me； by no means dead
In that hour； but surely
When this book； unread；
Rots to earth obscurely；
And no more to any breast；
Close against the clamorous swelling
Of the thing there is no telling；
Are these pages pressed！
When this book is mould；
And a book of many
Waiting to be sold
For a casual penny；
In a little open case；
In a street unclean and cluttered；
Where a heavy mud is spattered
From the passing drays；
Stranger； pause and look；
From the dust of ages
Lift this little book；
Turn the tattered pages；
Read me； do not let me die！
Search the fading letters； finding
Steadfast in the broken binding
All that once was I！
When these veins are weeds；
When these hollowed sockets
Watch the rooty seeds
Bursting down like rockets；
And surmise the spring again；
Or； remote in that black cupboard；
Watch the pink worms writhing upward
At the smell of rain；
Boys and girls that lie
Whispering in the hedges；
Do not let me die；
Mix me with your pledges；
Boys and girls that slowly walk
In the woods； and weep； and quarrel；
Staring past the pink wild laurel；
Mix me with your talk；
Do not let me die！
Farmers at your raking；
When the sun is high；
While the hay is making；
When； along the stubble strewn；
Withering on their stalks uneaten；
Strawberries turn dark and sweeten
In the lapse of noon；
Shepherds on the hills；
In the pastures； drowsing
To the tinkling bells
Of the brown sheep browsing；
Sailors crying through the storm；
Scholars at your study； hunters
Lost amid the whirling winter's
Whiteness uniform；
Men that long for sleep；
Men that wake and revel；
If an old song leap
To your senses' level
At such moments； may it be
Sometimes； though a moment only；
Some forgotten； quaint and homely
Vehicle of me！
Women at your toil；
Women at your leisure
Till the kettle boil；
Snatch of me your pleasure；
Where the broom…straw marks the leaf；
Women quiet with your weeping
Lest you wake a workman sleeping；
Mix me with your grief！
Boys and girls that steal
From the shocking laughter
Of the old； to kneel
By a dripping rafter
Under the discolored eaves；
Out of trunks with hingeless covers
Lifting tales of saints and lovers；
Travelers； goblins； thieves；
Suns that shine by night；
Mountains made from valleys；
Bear me to the light；
Flat upon your bellies
By the webby window lie；
Where the little flies are crawling；
Read me； margin me with scrawling；
Do not let me die！
Sexton； ply your trade！
In a shower of gravel
Stamp upon your spade！
Many a rose shall ravel；
Many a metal wreath shall rust
In the rain； and I go singing
Through the lots where you are flinging
Yellow clay on dust！
ALMS
My heart is what it was before；
A house where people come and go；
But it is winter with your love；
The sashes are beset with snow。
I light the lamp and lay the cloth；
I blow the coals to blaze again；
But it is winter with your love；
The frost is thick upon the pane。
I know a winter when it comes：
The leaves are listless on the boughs；
I watched your love a little while；
And brought my plants into the house。
I water them and turn them south；
I snap the dead brown from the stem；
But it is winter with your love；
I only tend and water them。
There was a time I stood and watched
The small； ill…natured sparrows' fray；
I loved the beggar that I fed；
I cared for what he had to say；
I stood and watched him out of sight；
Today I reach around the door
And set a bowl upon the step；
My heart is what it was before；
But it is winter with your love；
I scatter crumbs upon the sill；
And close the