The Buck in the Snow – Edna St. Vincent MillayWhite sky, over the hemlocks bowed with snow,Saw you not at the beginning of evening the antlered buck and his doeStanding in the apple-orchard? I saw them.
I saw them suddenly go,Tails up, with long leaps lovely and slow,Over the stone-wall into the wood of hemlocks bowed with snow.Now he lies here, his wild blood scalding the snow.How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlersThe buck in the snow.How strange a thing–a mile away by now, it may be,Under the heavy hemlocks that as the moments passShift their loads a little, letting fall a feather of snow–Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.
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