It is out in the mountains I find him, My snowy deer With silver horns like dew, Horns that sparkle.

I think I see him in the hollow, He is on the high hill!

I think I see him on the hill, He is leaping through the air!

I think I can ride upon his back, He is like moonlight I cannot hold, He is like thoughts I lose.

He flows by All white . . .

He makes me think of the brook Out of the hills With its little foamy points Like his twitching ears, Like his horns of silver Sparkling.

The brook is his only friend When he travels . . .

Silverhorn, Silverhorn!

SPARKLING DROP OF WATER

The sun shone,

All was still.

The sun made one sparkle in one drop Before it fell Down into the mossy green That was the gra.s.s.

It lay there silent A long time.

The sun went, the moon came, Again one sparkle in the gra.s.s!

Day then night, sun then moon, Year in, year out, So it went on with its life For several years Until at last it was never heard of Any more.

HAY-c.o.c.k

This is another kind of sweetness Shaped like a bee-hive: This is the hive the bees have lefts It is from this clover-heap They took away the honey For the other hive!

ONLY MORNING-GLORY THAT FLOWERED

Under the vine I saw one morning-glory A tight unfolding bud Half out.

He looked hard down into my lettuce-bed.

He was thinking hard.

He said I want a friend!

I was standing there: I said, Well, I am here! Don't you see me?

But he thought and thought.

The next day I found him happy, Quite out, Looking about the world.

The wind blew sweet airs, Carried away his perfume in the sun; And near by swung a new flower Uncurling its hands . . .

He was not thoughtful Any more!

WEATHER

Weather is the answer When I can't go out into flowery places; Weather is my wonder About the kind of morning Hidden behind the hills of sky.

SUMMER-DAY SONG

Wild birds fly over me.

I am not the blue curtain overhead, I am the one who lives under the sky.

I swing to the tree-tops, I pick strawberries, I sing and play, And happiness makes me like a great G.o.d On the earth.

It makes me think of great things A little girl like me Could not know of.

PINK ROSE-PETALS

Pink rose-petals Fluttering down in hosts, I know what you mean Sometimes, in Spring.

It is love you mean.

Love has a gray bird That flutters down; A dove that comes flying Saying the same thing.

How happy it makes me to think of it, Rose-petals . . . the gray dove . . .

THE LONESOME GREEN APPLE

There was a little green apple That had lasted over winter.

He had one leaf . . .

In spite of that he was lonesome.

He wondered what he could do When the blossoms were all around him, But one day he saw something!

Petals were falling, faces were looking out, Shapes like his were coming in the buds; Then he said: "If I hold on There will be a tree-full, and I shall know more than any of them!"

I AM

I am willowy boughs For coolness; I am gold-finch wings For darkness; I am a little grape Thinking of September, I am a very small violet Thinking of May.

MUSHROOM SONG

Oh little mushrooms with brown faces underneath And bare white heads, You think of summer and you think of song . . .

Why don't you think of me In my little white bed In the night?

You think only of your singsong and your dances, Following your leader round and round, You think only of the gra.s.s And the green apples and leaves Dropping out of the blue . . .

Why don't you think of me asleep In my little white bed?

The wind thinks of me, Brown-white dancers!