Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me.

The way a crow Shook down on me. The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood. And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

The footpath down to the well is healed.

The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.

A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.

In spring more mortal singers than belongTo any one place cover us with song.Thrush, bluebird, blackbird, sparrow, and robin throng.