Poetry of Kansas


Across a waste of moorland, bleak and bare,
         A lonely bird is flying, calling low___
         The last of all the feathered host to go,
         And loth to leave still lingers, calling, there.
         Within my silent garden-passes, where
         The flowers are withered that in summer blow,
         I walk with murmuring ghosts, that to and fro
Sway gently in the chill November air;
When, lo! I mark a little way apart
     The sovereign glory of this waning year
         That now, alone, unheralded hath come,
In gorgeous robes___alas, my fickle heart
     Forgets the dead, and laughs that she is here,
         The royal queen of fall, Chrysanthemum.

__Albert Bigelow Paine.

Rhymes by Two Friends
Albert Bigelow Paine & William Allen White
(Fort Scott: M. L. Izor and Son. 1893)
Page 26
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October 6, 2002 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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