William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1920.

I Come Singing

I COME singing the keen sweet smell of grass

Cut after rain,

And the cool ripple of drops that pass

Over the grain,

And the drenched light drifting across the plain.

I come chanting the mad bloom of the fall.

And the swallows

Rallying in clans to the rapid call

From the hollows,

And the wet west wind swooping down on the swallows.

I come shrilling the sharp white of December,

The night like. quick steel

Swung by a gust in its plunge through the pallid ember

Of dusk, and the heel

Of the fierce green dark grinding the stars like steel.

The New Republic