Pe urma unui om, m-am dus odată, să-ntorc cosita iarbă-nrourată. Dar dispăruse roua ceea care îi ascuțise coasa-atât de tare. Am fost să-i

Această boală, frântă-n prag, scara spălând-o cu arțag, a fost frumoasa Abishag, minunea de la Hollywood. Prea mulți, din fastul lor

Þara era a noastră înainte de a fi și noi ai țării, Era țara noastră de mai bine de o sută de ani Până când am devenit poporul ei. Era a

I staid the night for shelter at a farm Behind the mountains, with a mother and son, Two old-believers. They did all the talking. MOTHER

Supărarea credea că-i din pricina ei Grija credea că ea e pricina. N-aveau decât să creadă că a lor a fost vina, aceste două trufașe femei. Nu.

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. Vague

Willis, I didn\'t want you here to-day: The lawyer\'s coming for the company. I\'m going to sell my soul, or, rather, feet. Five hundred

I went to turn the grass once after one Who mowed it in the dew before the sun. The dew was gone that made his blade so keen Before I came

Come with rain, O loud Southwester! Bring the singer, bring the nester; Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snow-bank steam; Find

`You know Orion always comes up sideways. Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains, And rising on his hands, he looks in on me Busy

Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things, The

\"When I was just as far as I could walk From here today, There was an hour All still When leaning with my head against a flower I heard you

Lovers, forget your love, And list to the love of these, She a window flower, And he a winter breeze. When the frosty window veil Was melted

Afield at dusk What things for dream there are when specter-like, Moving amond tall haycocks lightly piled, I enter alone upon the stubbled

Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day I paused and said, \'I will turn back from here. No, I will go on farther- and we shall see\'. The

\'Fred, where is north?\' \'North? North is there, my love. The brook runs west.\' \'West-running Brook then call it.\' (West-Running

Love and forgetting might have carried them A little further up the mountain side With night so near, but not much further up. They must have

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth-- Assorted characters of

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To

When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy\'s been swinging them. But

He saw her from the bottom of the stairs Before she saw him. She was starting down, Looking back over her shoulder at some fear. She took a

Something there is that doesn\'t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes

from Caedmon Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far

Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things, The flow