Maybe nine years, her hair in yellow braids, Blue eyes that smiled and wondered. Unto her The prairie had a spirit; its wild dells Might catch you, lose you; and its pathless slopes Swung twenty miles, and melting into sky Curtained a world of marvels. She had heard Her father and her mother speak of such. The pictures, too, in the geography Entranced her. How conceive Gibraltar Rock, Straight up a hundred times as high as the house? The water roared and foamed at Hinton's Dam; Niagara then -- And her one fairy book Read all to pieces, rendered little clue To the wide prairies and their witchery. She heard the crane's cry, and the wild goose note, The grouse make love at dawn ere April came, The groans of nighthawks, screaming of killdeer, Twittering of swallows, blackbirds' cheerful call. The flowers were her good gossips; violets, The buffalo peas, sheep sorrel, spiderwort; The milky sheen of poppies, red moss rose A mellow velvet, spikes of blazing star; The evening primrose delicately pale; The Spanish bayonet's spire of drooping bells; The sensitive plant's red ball o'erspiced with gold; Voluptuous yellow of the honey cups The cactus guards; plain-thinking goldenrod. For playmates a cat, solemnity on four legs, And a doll for which her needle made awkward seams. She read and wrote, filled pages with criss-cross, Knitted on spools, helped mother, hunted eggs; Learned one by one all the beatitudes, @3Abou, A Psalm of Life@1, and @3Lucy Gray;@1 Was patient over faults in featherstitch If mother's mellow voice sang sweet old songs. Sometimes she changed a timid, helpless word With little girls at church; or rarer still, An old-time visit gave for a whole half-day Some child for comrade. Of the world beyond The horizon she had fancies. It was bright, Strange, and exciting like the stories told In twilight by her father; never sad, Nor lonely; full of romance and of dreams. In the long lingering sunset I have seen The steady eyes and wistful mouth appeal One moment to the colors of the heavens For answer, ere the dimple of her cheek Was found by her father's lips, or the childish voice Sang to her doll a formal lullaby. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 26 by JAMES JOYCE VILLA PAULINE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DAVIS MATLOCK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AUGUST FIRST by HAYDEN CARRUTH SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW A FLORIDA SUNDAY by SIDNEY LANIER |