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

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Glittering stars half-grown;A slight toneRippling into the stilling river,The crisp sea.
And spider snow will spin and spinA 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 clawSettled to stone since the last thaw;
Minnows bent with waveringAlong a pool's ice edges cling.
All the beautiful, braveColors that curled in the waveFlooding ground purple and crimsoning airAre battered and rigid and bare.
Earth, bled of her sap,Too stiff to unfold,The sprouted mouldIn the cleft of her lap;
While circles woven nearer nowHang cold broodings on her brow.
Still, then crackling, once more stillIcy feet come up the hill.

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