Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/155

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
7

Like wolves
The winds came upon my fruit trees,
And tore them to the ground;
But there are no stones
To kill the wolves of the wind,
And no curses to wither their teeth.

The New RepublicDavid Rosenthal


HILLTOP DUET
The Tree
  Old Vagabond Wind,
  Will you never take root?
  Will you never settle down
  To the soil,
  And bear fruit?

The Wind
  Old Stay-at-home Tree,
  Will you never take wing?
  Will you never break loose,
  And roam free
  Like a king?

Both
  The earth is for you,
  And the air is for me—
  But the poor little fishes,
  (Those little white fishes)
  Must stay in the sea,
  In the cold slimy sea—
  Brrr . . .

Emmy Veronica Sanders
Poetry, A Magazine of Verse

140