Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 7 (October 1915-March 1916).djvu/115

Sunday Morning And our desires. Although she strews the leaves Of sure obliteration on our paths—— The path sick sorrow took, the many paths Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love Whispered a little out of tenderness— She makes the willow shiver in the sun For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet. She causes boys to bring sweet-smelling pears And plums in ponderous piles. The maidens taste And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.