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
Out alone in the winter rain, Intent on giving and taking pain. But never was I far out of sight Of a certain upper-window light. The light was what it was all about: I would not go in till the light went out; It would not go out till I came in. Well, we should wee which one would win, We should see which one would be first to yield. The world was black invisible field. The rain by rights was snow for cold. The wind was another layer of mold. But the strangest thing: in the thick old thatch, Where summer birds had been given hatch, had fed in chorus, and lived to fledge, Some still were living in hermitage. And as I passed along the eaves, So low I brushed the straw with my sleeves, I flushed birds out of hole after hole, Into the darkness. It grieved my soul, It started a grief within a grief, To think their case was beyond relief-- They could not go flying about in search Of their nest again, nor find a perch. They must brood where they fell in mulch and mire, Trusting feathers and inward fire Till daylight made it safe for a flyer. My greater grief was by so much reduced As I though of them without nest or roost. That was how that grief started to melt. They tell me the cottage where we dwelt, Its wind-torn thatch goes now unmended; Its life of hundred of years has ended By letting the rain I knew outdoors In on to the upper chamber floors.