Monday, February 8, 2010

Who robbed the woods



XVII.

Who robbed the woods,
The trusting woods?
The unsuspecting trees
Brought out their burrs and mosses
His fantasy to please.
He scanned their trinkets, curious,
He grasped, he bore away.
What will the solemn hemlock,
What will the fir-tree say?

Saint Stephens Indian Mission, Saint Stephens, Wyoming.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

The sun just touched the morning



V.

The sun just touched the morning,
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.

She felt herself supremer, -
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king

Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems,
Leaving a new necessity, -
The want of diadems!

The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown, -
Her unanointed forehead
Henceforth her only one.

Lander, Wyoming.