My Island'Neath the mist of the dawning___the sky Arched violet, with pale stars aquiver Dim lamps here and there set on high. The trees were blurred clusters, soft rimming The white of the river's smooth sheen, When my soft-paddled boat did discover An islet, the green banks between. Upon its one treetop was singing, a thrush, And beneath bramble shade, Two tiny brown rabbits were springing At play near my prow, unafraid. Just a flower or two sprung from the grasses Just a red berry glowed on a vine, But that bit of an island seemed Eden And the airs that it breathed seemed divine. And pent mid the rush of the city With its hot panting call at my feet, I often remember my island And dream of that morning air sweet. Afloat on the dawn-gloried river I glide to its green banks again, And rest in its peace-giving beauty, Forgetting my toil and my pain. And this dream of an island, this mirage, Keeps me brave mid the pulse of the feet And the cruel heavy burden I carry, E'en turning my bitter bread sweet. And like the pure Master in Canaan This little dream-island of mine Works a miracle past all believing And changes life's salt drink to wine. __Louisa Cooke Don Carlos. |
Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
page 50
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)
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