Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22.
Up in the Hills
By Helen Louise Birch
From “Autumn Leaves”
THE EARTH smells old and warm and mellow, and all things lie at peace.
I too serenely lie here under the white-oak tree, and know the splendid flight of hours all blue and gay, sun-drenched and still.
The dogs chase rabbits through the hazel-brush;
I hear now close at hand their eager cries, now swift receding into the distance, leaving a-trail behind them in the clear sweet air shrill bursts of joy.
There’s something almost drowsy in that waning clamor;
