Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.
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You can't get too much winter in the winter.
The Vermont mountains stretch extended straight; New Hampshire mountains curl up in a coil.
Not yesterday I learned to know,The love of bare November days,Before the coming of the snow.
In spring more mortal singers than belongTo any one place cover us with song.Thrush, bluebird, blackbird, sparrow, and robin throng.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day. When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, a cloud come over the sunlit arch, And wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.
The rain to the wind said, You push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged - though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.
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