Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/40

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TYPHOON
We shall not shiver as we vainly tryTo 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 rainAnd 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.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseHazel Rawson Cades

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