The coat without a seam, and other poems

by Helen Gray Cone

And the song of the wind in the pines, when the shadows are blue on the snow,

And the song, song, song, of the wind in the flapping flag,

And the winter-night song of the wind in the chimney,

And the swelling, lulling song of the swirling wind of the sea

That is blent with the plunge of the sea.

THE GLEAM TRAVELS

It is morning, and April.

(They sleep, but I am alive and awake— the soft warm lucent blue of the spring heaven bathes my soul.)

There, and again there, the willow-veils hanging, golden-green, tremulous,

Near by, the bright red-bronze of the lifted cherry-boughs, flashing in the sun,