Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PEACE OF PRAIRIES, by GRACE DICKINSON SPERLING



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THE PEACE OF PRAIRIES, by            
First Line: To heal my spirit's ill there seemed no cure
Last Line: And peace where skies bend low to kiss the plain.
Subject(s): Nature; Prairies; Plains


To heal my spirit's ill there seemed no cure;
With diligence I searched from pole to pole,
And grew accustomed to the lapping lure
Of water tugging at a weathered bole.
For I have climbed where mountain ranges run
Across and up and down like cacti spines;
I know our inland seas and desert sun,
Have slept and wakened under giant pines.
Still haunted by unrest, I roamed the earth
In search of that for which my heart made moan;
Nor cared though my far questing brought to birth
Deep misery or joy, were it my own.
When suddenly I came on growing corn,
And saw the prairies here where I was born.

Saw as a stranger where the gracious sky
All dappling, dipped to meet the mellow ground,—
Alfalfa meadows, blue-grass, waving rye,
The little hills and every thing around.
Then through my being surged remembered joy,
Articulate with melody of long
Forgotten tunes, and like a wayward boy
At home again, my heart held secret song.
Majestic mountain-peaks had left me cold;
Loved cities, splendid, noisy with alarm
Palled on my jaded soul; but here were old
Calm scenes: the place where I was born, the charm
Of meadowlark still singing in the grain,
And peace where skies bend low to kiss the plain.





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