Page:American Poetry 1922.djvu/143



are playing on the sands; Curved bows of blue and white are flying over the pebbles, See them attack the chords—dark basses, glinting trebles. Dimly and faint they croon, blue violins. "Suffer without regret," they seem to cry, "Though dark your suffering is, it may be music, Waves of blue heat that wash midsummer sky; Sea-violins that play along the sands." 129