Poems about choice
The Hills Have A Thief Quick Startled
justified through calvaries of love
of all the birds that be
and life would all be spring!
when choice of life is past
her polar time behind
himself to him a fortune
grief is a thief quick startled
the hills have a way then
then eddies like a rose away
but turning back 'twas slow
and would not let the seconds by
each little doubt and fear,
When Choice Of Life Is That Later Thing
it's such a little thing to weep
love is that later thing than death
like other new things shows largest then
the lightning playeth all the while
when choice of life is past
with many a turn and thorn
without the other therefore
It Deem It Deem It Deem It Deem
what all the world suspect?
when choice of life is past
it deem it be continually
nay said the may
neither could be heard
Is It Would Be Gone
for fear it would be gone
they're here, though; not a creature failed
if one care to, that is,
what day be dark to me
and if the further heaven
and no man is the one
when choice of life is past
is it dead find it
as small they say as i
till we are helped
if we were true
yet have no art to say
to hands i cannot see
if i should cease to bring a rose
in it wait till judgment break
Only A Bee Will Miss It Home
how he stretched his anguish to us
her needle would not go
as some she never knew
as even while i looked dissolved
that time to take it home
when going to the barn
only a bee will miss it
happy it be for you a beggar's
when choice of life is past
that is the break of day!
parting is all we know of heaven,
the wind didn't come from the orchard today
the quiet ages picked it up
Embarrassment Of Life Is Past
embarrassment of one another
on here and there a creature
when choice of life is past
and finished knowing then
To Live So Small As I Fail Or
turn on me when i fail or feign,
to live so small as i
gave even as to all
the hills have a way then
should reach the heart that wanted me
that knows it cannot see
when choice of life is past
but you were crowned in june
it would hurt us were we awake
only me was still
he would trust no stranger
i do not care about it
New
when once it has begun
a bird by chance that goes that way
so say if queen it be
of which i have never heard?
nor will he like the dumb
it's all i have to bring today
no one he seemed to know
fame of myself to lack although
as if they just repressed
when he was mean and new
and then the list is done
when choice of life is past
they given us presents most you know
Shouldering Its Way And They No Memory Of
admits no memory of choice,
and they no doubt report
expressed them, and its curves were no false curves
and the awe passes wonder then,
shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs,
and brush the mow with the summer load,
the swarm dilating round the perfect trees,
the fresh chips,
making the gravel leap and leap in air,
it was far in the sameness of the wood;
a moment sought in air his flower of rest,
and melting further in the wind to mud,
water came to rebuke the too clear water,
he meant to clear the upper pasture, too,
not to believe the phoebes wept,
But Which It Was Intended So,
setting the thing that is supreme,
he is scornful of folk his scorn cannot reach,
there were enough things to be thought of then,
to take him in, and might be willing to
and so the choice must be again,
but wherever the truth may be
will be more lonely ere it will be less -
and ever it was intended so,
but which it only needs that we fulfill,
i should not be withheld but that some day
and so the choice must be again,
but if you so much as dare to speak,
the thoughts may not have risen that so keep
About Our Place Among The Sky;
"warren!"
for this is love and nothing else is love,
but strictly held by none, is loosely bound
nor was the grass itself your real concern,
but the last choice is still the same;
though some savants make earth include the sky;
not of woods only and the shade of trees,
about our place among the infinities,
coming and going all the time, they are,
so close the windows and not hear the wind,
but the wind out of doors�you know the saying,
My Dears, You Thought That�we All Thought It,
my dears, my dears, you thought that�we all thought it,
that when they're gathered shake
'this must be all,' it was all, still they stood,
and so the choice must be again,
With Doctoring, But It Sounded,
and be one traveler, long i stood
and so the choice must be again,
with doctoring, but it's not medicine
something to sell? that wasn't how it sounded,
upon my way to sleep before it fell,
he kept from school, or did his best to keep
and would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
and to do that to birds was why she came,
see nothing worthy to have been its mark,
that ought to be worth something, and may yet,
though we choose greatly, still to lack
to listen ere we dared to look,