Chapters (113)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Introduction
- A BOY’S WILL
- INTO MY OWN
- GHOST HOUSE
- MY NOVEMBER GUEST
- LOVE AND A QUESTION
- A LATE WALK
- STARS
- STORM FEAR
- WIND AND WINDOW FLOWER
- TO THE THAWING WIND
- A PRAYER IN SPRING
- FLOWER-GATHERING
- ROSE POGONIAS
- ASKING FOR ROSES
- WAITING
- IN A VALE
- A DREAM PANG
- IN NEGLECT
- THE VANTAGE POINT
- MOWING
- GOING FOR WATER
- REVELATION
- THE TRIAL BY EXISTENCE
- IN EQUAL SACRIFICE
- THE TUFT OF FLOWERS
- SPOILS OF THE DEAD
- PAN WITH US
- THE DEMIURGE’S LAUGH
- Now CLOSE THE WINDOWS
- A LINE—STORM SONG
- OCTOBER
- MY BUTTERFLY
- RELUCTANCE
- NORTH OF BOSTON
- THE PASTURE
- MENDING WALL
- THE DEATH OF THE HIRED MAN
- THE MOUNTAIN
- A HUNDRED COLLARS
- HOME BURIAL
- THE BLACK COTTAGE
- BLUEBERRIES
- A SERVANT TO SERVANTS
- AFTER APPLE-PICKING
- THE CODE
- THE GENERATIONS OF MEN
- THE HOUSEKEEPER
- THE FEAR
- THE SELF—SEEKER
- THE WOOD-PILE
- GOOD HOURS
- MOUNTAIN INTERVAL
- THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
- CHRISTMAS TREES
- AN OLD MAN’S WINTER NIGHT
- A PATCH OF OLD SNOW
- IN THE HOME STRETCH
- THE TELEPHONE
- MEETING AND PASSING
- HYLA BROOK
- THE OVEN BIRD
- BOND AND FREE
- BIRCHES
- PEA BRUSH
- PUTTING IN THE SEED
- A TIME TO TALK
- THE COW IN APPLE TIME
- AN ENCOUNTER
- RANGE-FINDING
- LONELINESS
- THE BONFIRE
- A GIRL’S GARDEN
- THE EXPOSED NEST
- “OUT, OUT——”
- BROWN’S DESCENT
- THE GUM-GATHERER
- THE LINE-GANG
- THE VANISHING RED
- SNOW
- THE SOUND OF THE TREES
- POEMS TO 1922 (LATER PUBLISHED IN NEW HAMPSHIRE)
- A STAR IN A STONE-BOAT
- THE CENSUS-TAKER
- MAPLE
- THE AX-HELVE
- THE GRINDSTONE
- PAUL’S WIFE
- WILD GRAPES
- PLACE FOR A THIRD
- I
- FIRE AND ICE
- DUST OF SNOW
- To E. T.
- THE AIM WAS SONG
- FOR ONCE, THEN, SOMETHING
- BLUE-BUTTERFLY DAY
- THE ONSET
- GOOD-BY AND KEEP COLD
- NOT TO KEEP
- A BROOK IN THE CITY
- EVENING IN A SUGAR ORCHARD
- THE VALLEY’S SINGING DAY
- MISGIVING
- A HILLSIDE THAW
- PLOWMEN
- ON A TREE FALLEN ACROSS THE ROAD
- THE LOCKLESS DOOR
- THE NEED OF BEING VERSED IN COUNTRY THINGS
- EXPLANATORY NOTES
- INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES
She withdrew shrinking from beneath his arm
That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;
And turned on him with such a daunting look,
He said twice over before he knew himself:
“Can’t a man speak of his own child he’s lost?”
“Not you! Oh, where’s my hat? Oh, I don’t need it!
I must get out of here. I must get air.
I don’t know rightly whether any man can.”
“Amy! Don’t go to someone else this time.
Listen to me. I won’t come down the stairs.”
He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.
“There’s something I should like to ask you, dear.”
“You don’t know how to ask it.”
“Help me, then.”
Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.
“My words are nearly always an offence.
I don’t know how to speak of anything
So as to please you. But I might be taught
I should suppose. I can’t say I see how.
A man must partly give up being a man
With women-folk. We could have some arrangement
By which I’d bind myself to keep hands off
Anything special you’re a—mind to name.
Though I don’t like such things ’twixt those that love.
Two that don’t love can’t live together without them.
But two that do can’t live together with them.”
She moved the latch a little. “Don’t—don’t go.
Don’t carry it to someone else this time.
Tell me about it if it’s something human.
Let me into your grief. I’m not so much
Unlike other folks as your standing there
Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.
I do think, though, you overdo it a little.
What was it brought you up to think it the thing
To take your mother-loss of a first child
So inconsolably—in the face of love.
You’d think his memory might be satisfied——”
“There you go sneering now!”
“I’m not, I’m not!
You make me angry. I’ll come down to you.
God, what a woman! And it’s come to this,
A man can’t speak of his own child that’s dead.”
“You can’t because you don’t know how.
If you had any feelings, you that dug
With your own hand—how could you?—his little grave;
I saw you from that very window there,
Making the gravel leap and leap in air,
Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly
And roll back down the mound beside the hole.
I thought, Who is that man? I didn’t know you.