In neglect, the Mountains Stood in Haze

A. called me a couple days ago and reminded me of a few of my favorite poems I'd dug up in my college days. I'm grateful because I'd almost forgotten they'd existed, but I used to love them so much that so much as the first few syllables escaped his lips and I was spouting the lines with him.

Here they are:

In Neglect, by Robert Frost

They leave us so to the way we took
As two in whom they were proved mistaken,
That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook,
With mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look,
And try if we cannot feel forsaken.

An excerpt from The Mountains Stood in Haze, by Emily Dickinson

So soft upon the scene
The act of evening fell
We felt how neighborly a thing
Was the invisible.