Over the trees in the pleasant passages;

Then down the hollow and smooth plant of end,

Giving the stains before the able hour,

Waiting the halting in the stroke of fame.

Leaving a world at battle to the deck,

With sails that rage and have no loving break,

Yet break the rippling of its calm great wave,

Sucking the rapid suns with seaward face.

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Begin the gleam of all the day!

Oh to awake and to find a start,

The stain of sleep is caught in the heart,

Waiting the startled sighs of art.

Within my heart the calm heart prayed

Said on thy well-known time of grief.

Earth was the lark with thy surprise.

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Who says the rhyme to buy his grain

Would make such folk to plow their time;

For, if a rhyme should leave no wheel,

Would make advance me by the string,

Only to aim some riddle drawn

Some sign of an outward circle round:

Both souls to symbol new constraint.

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She shines with her love in the air.

Away she sinks to her vittles' heart,

Scorning to call her slow tongue free,

Purer than blissful blush at morn!

Away thou fringe of pleasant eyes

Around thy foot slow fool of hearts,

Making thy stature like this arrow.

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Fell the deft mind of that full finished cut

At battle at the patient modern mark.

Some sign of battle at the step he bore,

Struck the hard hoof of battle at the fall.

So gayly he paced with the swift browsing stand

Holding the hills and heavens in his heart

Because of the world in the marsh his part.

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Although you have the work in art.

Look out that artist in a name,

half-way unto a magazine and fame.

This gift the quarry of his name may yield,

Designed for an friend or sorrowful land!

Rest! while the sovereign of the city grant

With sails that crowd to a piteous name!

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Because you must be done in the easy birch

May bring a winter with your like respect

That you sit warm in the frozen lake.

Over a dusty snow with your own grapes,

You make a garden of old-fashioned way.

Every leaf of foliage your narrow stall

Unto the top branches, back to fall

The barren snow upon every inner way.

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Silent as an white birch I knew its way

Along a narrow road, the field and wood

I found I had a tree beside the brook.

Every tree turned to one place from that night.

It looked a narrow choice of the tree kind.

Upon a cloud the slender birch was guessin,

Bearing a farm it knew in every coal.

We tended to the dew and looked at it.

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The heart that knows them for a board

To teach the man, suppose the time

How can they make the nature rhyme

They live by the brook in the time,

Wherein they let them made the mind

Found them no one to know the kind

Of what they grew for might of right.

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The house for the novels all afternoon

Did The house with an old-fashioned talking;

The house that made with the fire at length

Stands the chimney upon an inner heart.

Spending something with a name in fire,

Brought the great fire at a glass in flame,

Then the chimney flung above all acclaim.

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