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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
COUNTRY-CLUB, by AUGUST H. MASON
First Line: Genteel this april hour. This textured green
Last Line: Their concourse down the frothing social flume.
Subject(s): Country Clubs
First Line: Genteel this april hour. This textured green
Last Line: Their concourse down the frothing social flume.
Subject(s): Country Clubs
Genteel this April hour. This textured green,
Rain-sweet, exhales an equal peace. Without
These faultless panes, the purest box: no rout
Of untamed leafage, no natural spleen.
Within, mild-springing commerce flows serene
As sequence of clear waters doubling out
Of flagons underground, with careful shout
Almost released, then checked, and never seen.
Brown tea comes in, and toast with cinnamon.
The sun makes gold a moment in a score
Of silver spoons. Voices in current run
Politely slow, slip quickly through the room
Like mountain brooklets, eager now to pour
Their concourse down the frothing social flume.
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