Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Song of SunlightAlice Corbin
S
Every house edged with light;
Open fields are before me,
Mountains across the sky.
What have I to do with cities?
They run along the hills,
Mad with sunlight;
They tumble into a deep canyon;
They take hold of a cloud
And swing with it—listen!—
They drop far off, noiselessly,
Beyond the blue mountain.
Do you see that hill move—
Heavily, like a sleeper,
Wrinkling his skin,
Moving the contour of pines and rocks,
Resting his hips?
Not far for them to lean down and whisper …
Rocks, I have never known you before.
Earth, your red canyons
Are sluiced through me,
The crests of your hills
Break over me—
I ride upward to meet them.