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
I slumbered with your poems on my breast Spread open as I dropped them half-read through Like dove wings on a figure on a tomb To see, if in a dream they brought of you, I might not have the chance I missed in life Through some delay, and call you to your face First solider, and then poet, and then both, Who died a soldier-poet of your race. I meant, you meant, that nothing should remain Unsaid between us, brother, and this remained-- And one thing more that was not then to say: The Victory for what it lost and gained. You went to meet the shell's embrace of fire On Vimy Ridge; and when you fell that day The war seemed over more for you than me, But now for me than you--the other way. How ever, though, for even me who knew The foe thrust back unsafe beyond the Rhine, If I was not speak of it to you And see you pleased once more with words of mine?