Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Songs of the Plains

Glenn Ward Dresbach

THERE’S no hiding here in the glare of the desert—

If your coat is sham the sun shines through.

Here with the lonely things and the silence

There is no crowd for saving you.

When hearts love here the love lasts longer,

And hate leaves here a heavy scar.

But we, with the desert’s beauty of distance,

Are always dreaming of places far!

If you have come to start a kingdom—

Our eyes have looked on Rome and Tyre!

But if you come with dreams for baggage,

Sit with us by the cedar fire!

The sultry sudden darkness,

Like some black mantle thrown

From shoulders of a giant

On children left alone,

Falls over us; and, stilled with fear,

In dark we see, in silence hear!

Then rain!—a sudden pounding

Of unformed maddened things,

Pounding, splashing—stubborn

As vultures’ heavy wings

That pound the air, too sure to hate,

In hunger, and move low, and wait!

Four old trees stand tall on a hill.

Wind swirls around them, never still;

And their heads together bow and sway

As if in talk of a game they play.

Sometimes they laugh and sometimes sigh;

And there beneath a low gray sky

I’ve seen them drop their leaves when thins

The gold and crimson, as near dawn

Wise gamblers drop their cards upon

The table, saying kindly, “Why

Quarrel with a game that no one wins!”

The wood was so old that I thought

I’d hear it saying its prayers

In the aisles like cloisters wrought;

But I came on it, unawares,

Chuckling—like old men mellow grown—

Talking of youth on a hill alone!

The birds love you too,

Calling, “Sweet, sweet, sweet!”

In the windy lane

Where the tree-tops meet.

But I love you best,

Since my lips let pass

No song lest I miss

Your steps on the grass.

I’ll go where willows quicken

Their dances in the glow

Of morning, and the wild brooks

Make music down below;

For I am weary seeking

The things I may not know.

And I shall feel the silver

Of willow leaves, and hold

A drop of water winking

With rainbows yet unsold.

What more may all the world find

Now all its dreams are old!