I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

The coasting crowd upon the hill With some new spirit seems to thrill; And all the temple bells achime. Ring out the glee of Christmas time.

who found you in the green forest and were you very sorry to come away? see i will comfort you because you smell so sweetly.

A film of mist clings to the storm windows As the thunder gets pocketed and carried away In the rain’s dark overcoat. A good reading night.

We lie on the cold sand and it embraces us, this beach where locals never go in summer and boast of their absence.

But blessings are like friends, I hold, Who love and labor near us. We ought to raise our notes of praise While living hearts can hear us.

Citizens all, they move their hands over the humble, battered body of the nation, while their fingers make full utterance: I want, I want.

I am a firm believer in the people. If given the truth, they can be depended upon to meet any national crisis. The great point is to bring them the real facts, and beer.

Ninety feet between home plate and first base may be the closest man has ever come to perfection.

O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all.

The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold The purple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough Drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.

Child-crafted clouds, all sheen and fleece and curlicues, As a girl, with her tongue in her teeth, would have made them, The point of her crayon squashed against the page.

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

Before us the wide ocean runs to meet the limpid sky Our hearts are full of poignant life, and care has fled afar As sweeps the white-winged fishing fleet across the harbor bar.

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

The breezes taste Of apple peel. The air is full Of smells to feel — Ripe fruit, old footballs, Burning brush, New books, erasers, Chalk, and such.

 It is a real chill out, The genuine thing. I am not deceived, I do not think it is still summer Because sun stays and birds continue to sing.

I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips.

You better think (think) Think about what you’re trying to do to me Think (think) Let your mind go, let yourself be free.

Open the window, and let the air Freshly blow upon face and hair And fill the room, as it fills the night, With the breath of the rain’s sweet might.