A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had! Worth three cents more to give away than sell . . . Too bad I couldn’t lay one in a letter. I can’t help wishing I could send you one.

With incense sweet our thanks ascend; Before thy works our powers pall; Though we should strive years without end, We could not thank thee for them all.

My last walk in the trees has come. At dawn I must return to the trapped fields, To the obedient earth. The trees shall be reaching all the winter.

I’ve been wondering about what you mean, Standing in the spray of shadows before an ocean Abandoned for winter, silent as a barque of blond hair.

So dull and dark are the November days. The lazy mist high up the evening curled, And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze; The place we occupy seems all the world.

On the last of October When dusk is fallen Children join hands And circle round me Singing ghost songs And love to the harvest moon.

I stood in the disenchanted field Amid the stubble and the stones, Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me The song of my marrow-bones.

The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I’ll put a trinket on.

Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe.

The promises have gone, Gone, gone, and they were here just now There is the sky where they laid their fish. Soon it will be evening.

Cape Cod kids ain’t got no sleds They slide down the hills on codfish heads Cape Cod girls ain’t got no frills They tie their hair with codfish gills.

Although it is a cold evening, Down by one of the fishhouses An old man sits netting, His net, In the gloaming almost invisible.

A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip — There is a glorious fellowship! Father and son and the open sky And the white clouds lazily drifting by.

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer.

The wind blows Through the doors of my heart. It scatters my sheet music That climbs like waves from the piano, free of the keys.

Warm summer sun, shine kindly here; Warm southern wind, blow softly here; Green sod above, lie light, lie light — Good night, dear heart, good night, good night.

How sociable the garden was. We ate and talked in given light. The children put their toys to grass All the warm wakeful August night.

Under Orion on the green-waved lawn I float, high — New moon, old craft Tide strong as ever to the sheer horizon.

The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.

He stood beside a cottage lone And listened to a lute, One summer’s eve, when the breeze was gone, And the nightingale was mute.