My November Guest
Acquainted With the Night The Armful The Black Cottage Blue-Butterfly Day A Boundless Moment The Code The Death of the Hired Man Departmental The Door in the Dark A Dream Pang Dust of Snow Evening in a Sugar Orchard Fire and Ice Flower-Gathering Fragmentary Blue The Generations of Men Ghost House In Hardwood Groves In Neglect Into My Own The Kitchen Chimney Love and a Question Mending Wall The Mountain My Butterfly My November Guest Nothing Gold Can Stay October The Onset Out, Out -- The Oven Bird Pan with Us A Patch of Old Snow A Peck of Gold A Prayer in Spring Reluctance Revelation The Road Not Taken Sand Dunes Spring Pools Stars Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening The Thatch To E.T. The Trial by Existence The Tuft of Flowers The Vanishing Red The Vantage Point A Winter Eden The Wood-Pile
My Sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She's glad the birds are gone away, She's glad her simple worsted grady Is silver now with clinging mist. The desolate, deserted trees, The faded earth, the heavy sky, The beauties she so ryly sees, She thinks I have no eye for these, And vexes me for reason why. Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow, But it were vain to tell he so, And they are better for her praise.