Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/187

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Glittering stars half-grown;
A slight tone
Rippling into the stilling river,
The crisp sea.

And spider snow will spin and spin
A tangle of cold to catch earth in.

Morning's red yawn,
Evening's pain,
Never will startle the earth, then,
Pure from her stain,
Earth's garments discarded and cleansed by the cold clean hands of the rain.

A leaf's lines, and stem's tints,
Make in icy places, prints;

Trace of a foot, of a hooked claw
Settled to stone since the last thaw;

Minnows bent with wavering
Along a pool's ice edges cling.

All the beautiful, brave
Colors that curled in the wave
Flooding ground purple and crimsoning air
Are battered and rigid and bare.

Earth, bled of her sap,
Too stiff to unfold,
The sprouted mould
In the cleft of her lap;

While circles woven nearer now
Hang cold broodings on her brow.

Still, then crackling, once more still
Icy feet come up the hill.

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