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<div class="poem"> <p>“Then you know me.<br /> Now we are getting on together—talking.<br /> I’m sort of Something for it at the front.<br /> My business is to find what people want:<br /> They pay for it, and so they ought to have it.<br /> Fairbanks, he says to me—he’s editor—<br /> Feel out the public sentiment—he says.<br /> A good deal comes on me when all is said.<br /> The only trouble is we disagree<br /> In politics: I’m Vermont Democrat—<br /> You know what that is, sort of double-dyed;<br /> The News has always been Republican.<br /> Fairbanks, he says to me, ‘Help us this year,’<br /> Meaning by us their ticket. ‘No,’ I says,<br /> ‘I can’t and won’t. You’ve been in long enough:<br /> It’s time you turned around and boosted us.<br /> You’ll have to pay me more than ten a week<br /> If I’m expected to elect Bill Taft.<br /> I doubt if I could do it anyway.’“ </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“I’ll have to have a bed.” </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“Oh,<br /> Because I want their dollar. I don’t want<br /> Anything they’ve not got. I never dun.<br /> I’m there, and they can pay me if they like.<br /> I go nowhere on purpose: I happen by.<br /> Sorry there is no cup to give you a drink.<br /> I drink out of the bottle—not your style.<br /> Mayn’t I offer you——?” </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“Will you believe me if I put it there<br /> Right on the counterpane—that I do trust you?” </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“You say ‘unless.’“ </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“It’s business, but I can’t say it’s not fun.<br /> What I like best’s the lay of different farms,<br /> Coming out on them from a stretch of woods,<br /> Or over a hill or round a sudden corner.<br /> I like to find folks getting out in spring,<br /> Raking the dooryard, working near the house.<br /> Later they get out further in the fields.<br /> Everything’s shut sometimes except the barn;<br /> The family’s all away in some back meadow.<br /> There’s a hay load a-coming—when it comes.<br /> And later still they all get driven in:<br /> The fields are stripped to lawn, the garden patches<br /> Stripped to bare ground, the apple trees<br /> To whips and poles. There’s nobody about.<br /> The chimney, though, keeps up a good brisk smoking.<br /> And I lie back and ride. I take the reins<br /> Only when someone’s coming, and the mare<br /> Stops when she likes: I tell her when to go.<br /> I’ve spoiled Jemima in more ways than one.<br /> She’s got so she turns in at every house<br /> As if she had some sort of curvature,<br /> No matter if I have no errand there.<br /> She thinks I’m sociable. I maybe am.<br /> It’s seldom I get down except for meals, though.<br /> Folks entertain me from the kitchen doorstep,<br /> All in a family row down to the youngest.” </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“I don’t know who I rather would have have them.<br /> They’re only turning yellow where they are.<br /> But you’re the doctor as the saying is.<br /> I’ll put the light out. Don’t you wait for me:<br /> I’ve just begun the night. You get some sleep.<br /> I’ll knock so-fashion and peep round the door<br /> When I come back so you’ll know who it is.<br /> There’s nothing I’m afraid of like scared people.<br /> I don’t want you should shoot me in the head.<br /> What am I doing carrying off this bottle?<br /> There now, you get some sleep.” </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“Don’t touch me, please—I say, don’t touch me, please.<br /> I’ll not be put to bed by you, my man.” </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“So I should hope. What kind of man?” </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“Known it since I was young.” </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>“You seem to shape the paper’s policy.” </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>The Doctor looked at Lafe and looked away.<br /> A man? A brute. Naked above the waist,<br /> He sat there creased and shining in the light,<br /> Fumbling the buttons in a well-starched shirt.<br /> “I’m moving into a size-larger shirt.<br /> I’ve felt mean lately; mean’s no name for it.<br /> I just found what the matter was to-night:<br /> I’ve been a-choking like a nursery tree<br /> When it outgrows the wire band of its name tag.<br /> I blamed it on the hot spell we’ve been having.<br /> ’Twas nothing but my foolish hanging back,<br /> Not liking to own up I’d grown a size.<br /> Number eighteen this is. What size do you wear?” </p> </div>  +
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<div class="poem"> <p>Let those who will stride on their barren roads<br /> And prick themselves to haste with self-made goads,<br /> Unheeding, as they struggle day by day,<br /> If flowers be sweet or skies be blue or gray:<br /> For me, the lone, cool way by purling brooks,<br /> The solemn quiet of the woodland nooks,<br /> A song-bird somewhere trilling sadly gay,<br /> A pause to pick a flower beside the way. </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>Hush, hush, these woods are thick with shapes and voices,<br /> They crowd behind, in front, <br /> Scarcely can one’s wheels break through them. <br /> For God’s sake, drive quickly! <br /> There are butchered victims behind those trees, <br /> And what you say is moss I know is the dead hair of hanged men. <br /> Drive faster, faster.<br /> The hair will catch in our wheels and clog them;<br /> We are thrown from side to side by the dead bodies in the road,<br /> Do you not smell the reek of them, <br /> And see the jaundiced film that hides the stars?<br /> Stand on the accelerator. I would rather be bumped to a jelly<br /> Than caught by clutching hands I cannot see, <br /> Than be stifled by the press of mouths I cannot feel. <br /> Not in the light glare, you fool, but on either side of it. <br /> Curse these swift, running trees, <br /> Hurl them aside, leap them, crush them down, <br /> Say prayers if you like, <br /> Do anything to drown the screaming silence of this forest, <br /> To hide the spinning shapes that jam the trees. <br /> What mystic adventure is this <br /> In which you have engulfed me? <br /> What no-world have you shot us into? <br /> What Dante dream without a farther edge? <br /> Fright kills, they say, and I believe it. <br /> If you would not have murder on your conscience,<br /> For Heaven’s sake, get on! </p> </div>  +
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<div class="poem"> <p>I breathe the imperishable breath,<br /> I trespass the bounds of death––<br /> For my heart knows all the way<br /> To the eternal day. </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>Bend low, impenetrable sky––<br /> Through your shades my road runs high:<br /> It needs no stars to guide––<br /> No measuring sea-tide. </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>A white road between sea and land,<br /> Night and silence on either hand––<br /> Pointing to some unknown gate<br /> A white forefinger of fate. </p> </div>  +
<div class="poem"> <p>I follow, I follow––I'll wend<br /> My way on this road to the end;<br /> Silence may keep to the sea,<br /> On land no light shines free. </p> </div>  +