| The gray world, the gray world,
That clouds the face of Spring, That clothes in nebulous white shrouds Each near, familiar thing__ Even the river's voice sounds strange, Sullenly murmuring. No warm light finds the gray world, Of filmy mists and spray; The clinging beauty of the fog Has shut the hills away; God's living sun has died and left This lovely wraith of Day. The gray world, the ghost world,__ The winds lie as they list, While Spring comes shyly veiled in gray To keep her April tryst. 0 you who died before this day, What loveliness you missed! __Ester M. (Clark) Hill. |
The Call of Kansas and Other Poems
Esther M. (Clark) Hill
(Cedar Rapids: Torch Press. __)
Page 61
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