Soldiers of the light

by Helen Gray Cone

The billowing of the russet-feathered grass

In the warm wind; the shadow of clouds that sail;

The orange field-flower flaming like a torch

To light all wings of wavering butterflies;

The long wash of the everlasting wave,

The same and not the same forevermore.

Again the summer nights, a-throb with stars,

And that clear Star, the glory of the Lyre,

White-burning, hung at the high heart of heaven.

Again the summer days, the summer nights,—