White sky, over the hemlocks bowed with snow, Saw you not at the beginning of evening the antlered buck and his doe Standing 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 lies he here, his wild blood scalding the snow. How strange a thing is d**h, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers The buck in the snow. How strange a thing--a mile away by now, it may be, Under the heavy hemlocks that as the moments pa** Shift their loads a little, letting fall a feather of snow-- Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.