Page:The Dial (Volume 76).djvu/507



what ancient secrets grimace beyond these hills these barren mountains and the wasted valleys swimming in corrosive shadows

what sound of welling water or distant mutter of the slow inevitable worms

—The taste of dust is on thy lips beloved

oh let the subtle contours of thy words impress upon my mind some faint design

(soon a sudden blare of tulips will shatter the brittle theme of spring and summer struggle from the womb of rigid hills)