Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/40
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TYPHOON
We shall not shiver as we vainly try
To stir cold ashes once again to fire,
Nor bury a dead passion, you and I.
The wind that weds a moment sea and sky,
In one exultant storm and passes by,
Was our desire.
To stir cold ashes once again to fire,
Nor bury a dead passion, you and I.
The wind that weds a moment sea and sky,
In one exultant storm and passes by,
Was our desire.
The BookmanAmelia Josephine Burr
FEEL OF BRAMBLES
She will bear him children with straight backs and sturdy limbs,
Clear-eyed children with untroubled minds.
Mine would have been brown things, questioners—
With little hoofs, I think;
Lovers of wind and rain
And twisted brambly paths over the hills.
But he was afraid—afraid of the brown-hoofed ones;
And more afraid that sometimes,
As we grew old together,
I would slip away from him to the hills;
Where he—because of gout, or girth, or civic dignity—
Could not come after.
Clear-eyed children with untroubled minds.
Mine would have been brown things, questioners—
With little hoofs, I think;
Lovers of wind and rain
And twisted brambly paths over the hills.
But he was afraid—afraid of the brown-hoofed ones;
And more afraid that sometimes,
As we grew old together,
I would slip away from him to the hills;
Where he—because of gout, or girth, or civic dignity—
Could not come after.
He need not have been troubled:
Long before that I should have lost the feel of brambles.
Long before that I should have lost the feel of brambles.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseHazel Rawson Cades
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