Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (18691948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922. |
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Berkshires in April |
| Clement Wood (18881950) |
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IT is not Springnot yet | |
But at East Schaghticoke I saw an ivory birch | |
Lifting a filmy red mantle of knotted buds | |
Above the rain-washed whiteness of her arms. | |
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It is not Springnot yet | 5 |
But at Hoosick Falls I saw a robin strutting, | |
Thin, still, and fidgety, | |
Not like the puffed, complacent ball of feathers | |
That dawdles over the cidery Autumn loam. | |
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It is not Springnot yet | 10 |
But up the stocky Pownal hills | |
Some springy shrub, a scarlet gash on the grayness, | |
Climbs, flaming, over the melting snows. | |
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It is not Springnot yet | |
But at Williamstown the willows are young and golden, | 15 |
Their tall tips flinging the suns rays back at him; | |
And as the sun drags over the Berkshire crests, | |
The willows glow, the scarlet bushes burn, | |
The high hill birches shine like purple plumes, | |
A royal headdress for the brow of Spring. | 20 |
It is the doubtful, unquiet end of Winter, | |
And Spring is pulsing out of the wakening soil. | |
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