Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/147

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SONNET TO A PLOUGH-WOMAN OF NORWAY
Deep-bosomed, stalwart-limbed, superbly made,Unconscious of her power and her grace,Accustomed to the blowzy wind's embrace,Magnificent, unlettered, unafraid.She guides her course past interlacing streamsStriding the fields behind her ancient plough,Or halts beneath some blossoming, frail boughTo rest her beast and give herself to dreams.Her eyes survey the road, the moor, the peat,With wide, untroubled gaze, she plays no part,No joys rise up to suffocate her heartBecause a smile falls lightly at her feet.To one who comes for her at dusk, perchance,She lifts a brief intoxicated glance.
Contemporary VerseMargaret Tod Ritter


WATER NOISES
When I am playing by myself, And all the boys are lost around,Then I can hear the water go— It makes a little talking sound.
Along the rocks below the tree, I see it ripple up and wink;And I can hear it saying on, "And do you think? and do you think?"
A bug shoots by that snaps and ticks, And a bird flies up beside the treeTo go into the sky to sing. I hear it say, "Killdee, killdee!"

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