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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  H. L. Davis

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

To the River Beach

H. L. Davis

From “To the River Beach”

LET me go now, now that from grown alders leaves

Have torn loose, and go flying close to the sand

Along the black river-water. White rye-grass bends

Under the wind, under the sky, toward water

Where the pheasants feed, hiding; and the few willows,

With dark alder leaves caught in them, join and part.

I have not seen them for so long I see dark mouths

Black with juice of berries, and I remember the children

Who ran shaking the tall rye-grass. So they run

And scatter as if caught in the wind, gathering

The last beach fruit, late ripening, which they can save.