Page:The Dial (Volume 73).djvu/205

Rh Speak well of springs, Smear with damp hands of comment All fragile, fleet things.

Plumed crests of pampas grass Caution me dearly How days pass: Wake me to yearly Recollections of lilies— Tall hedges of callas For walls of my world.

Fingers toughen Tinkering with steel-cold words— Thought casts lonely Long shadows In these pine-sweet lands. I chafe at chattering birds— Grow covetous only Of certain deft Fond hands.