The Trees That Have It In Their

My Long Two-pointed Ladder's Sticking Through A Tree Toward Heaven Still, And There's A Barrel That I Didn't Fill Beside It, And There May Be Two Or Three Apples I Didn't Pick Upon Some Bough. But I Am Done With Apple-picking Now. Essence Of Winter Sleep Is On The Night, The Scent Of Apples: I Am Drowsing Off.

So Was I Once Myself A Swinger Of Birches. And So I Dream Of Going Back To Be.

The Land Was Ours Before We Were The Land's. She Was Our Land More Than A Hundred Years Before We Were Her People.

You Can't Get Too Much Winter In The Winter.

I Always Entertain Great Hopes.