You also under the moon, Oh dark of hair,
In the night's beauty, being part of the night,
Dream of me in the darkness, in the bright
Lakes of moonlight, in the meadowy air.
Dream of me in the wind which slowly passes
Over these stars, the full, the deepening stream,
Sharing this beauty, being part of the dream,
The night and I, the wind, the shadowy grasses,
Which must themselves change again and assemble
Distant and strange, where another you and I
Under another moon and another sky
Feel their hearts melt in the dark and tremble,
Calling each other across the widening sea:
Dream of me too in the moonlight; dream of me.
Now does the spider's house
Hang grey upon the wall,
The carcass of a louse
Adorns it most of all.
On dry stalks of clover
Or under sunny stones,
October will uncover
The fly's white bones.
(Or in my breast where
A light web swings,
Quiet as the air,
And full of dry wings.)
Tread softly, sorrow, for the summer passes,
Her leaves are falling in continual rain;
Let me be silent as the withered grasses,
Let me be quiet as the gathered grain.
This season that inevitably closes,
The swift returning year again will bring;
The summer passes with a rain of roses,
And winter follows, fading into spring.
So let me, like a tree, with natural reason
Put all my buds to bed at winter's start.
Then in the April of another season,
Beauty will break andblossom in my heart,
And birds renew their youth along the bough,
When all is green -- my heart remembers how.
Here in this spot with you my wings are furled.
I am an eagle bosomed in his nest.
No other eyrie in the windy world
Can still theflying feathers of my breast.
All otherwhere I light but do not rest;
The cloudy mountains and the sighing foam
Find me a lost and momentary guest,
My mind for flying, and my wings for home.
No bright horizon can delay my flight,
I am too swift for beauty to ensnare,
Too high for grief, too urgent for delight,
Lonely and silent in the parts of air.
Only with you, wherever you may be,
Are woods and hills and beauty and the sea.
Love is the first thing.
Love goes past.
Sorrow is the next thing,
Quiet is the last.
Love is a good thing,
Quiet isn't bad,
But sorrow is the best thing
I've ever had.
| Kipling | Millay | Frost | Chesterton | Nash | Various | Rohan | Nathan |
| Bashô | Hopkins | Chinese | Burns | Slavic | Igor | Sappho | Wolfe |
| Ridges | Walden | Pine | Black Oak | Little Pine | Chestnut | Haw |
| Greenbelt | Emory Valley | Pellissippi | Key Springs | Snapping Turtle Pond |